The Other Occupant
by FeliciaFelicis
Summary: Emily Cooper needs an escape. Her Mother is driving her up the wall, and her job could not be any more boring, not to mention her life. But things are about to change when her friend introduces her to none other than Sherlock Holmes; the world's only Consulting Detective. Sherlock/OC
1. Prologue

**Be gentle with me, this is my first attempt at a Sherlock Fanfiction.**

**I don't own Sherlock, only my OC. **

**Apologies for spelling/ punctuation mistakes I have probably made. **

* * *

Today was the day.

Today was the day that Carl Powers would finally pay for laughing at him. And he could hardly wait.

He had argued with himself for days on end now, as to wether he should actually be at the pool when the events where happening. But he couldn't help himself. So there he was, waiting a little impatiently for Seb to arrive with his little sister. Breathing in the chlorine filled air as he began to pace.

Anyone expecting to get away with murder, always has a believable alibi. It was the reason he was waiting outside, his swimming trunks and towel carelessly thrown into the bag slung over his shoulder.

"JIM!" He heard from behind him now. He instantly stopped pacing and spun on the spot to face the direction his two companions were coming from. He allowed a small smile to grace his face at the sight that greeted him. A little girl no older then four was running quickly towards him, her arms already outstretched. Blonde hair flying behind her as she did so.

"Jim, Jim, Jim, Jim, Jim..." She sang as she got closer to him. He let his bag fall to the floor and outstretched his arms, ready for her arrival.

In her excitement to see him, he almost toppled to the floor when she jumped into his arms. But he managed to keep his feet firmly on the floor. He spun her around a few times, receiving her bubbly laughter in his ear. When he was finally still, she moved backwards slightly, so she could look him in the eyes as she spoke.

"Are you here to help Bas teach me how to swim?" She asked, hope shining from her eyes.

"You know it." He replied. She hugged him close again before her brother caught up to her and made her walk.

"Put her down Jim, you don't know where she's been." Sebastian spoke up when he finally reached them. Jim, who had always had somewhat a soft spot for the blonde haired munchkin he was currently holding, pretended to act shocked and held her head closer to him so he could whisper, just loud enough for her brother to hear:

"Don't you listen to him Emmy. He's just sour that you prefer me to him." He told her as he put her down on the floor where she latched onto his hand before she took Sebastian's offered one with her other.

"Ready for today Jim?" Sebastian asked looking over at the black haired boy, careful not to sound like he was talking about anything other than his half sister learning how to swim. But he needn't have been cautious; Emily was busy continuing with her chorus of; "Jim, Jim, Jim, Jim, Jim..."

"I was born ready." Jim answered without turning to look at Sebastian. His voice had taken on that menacing tone that was capable of sending shivers down spines.

"You ready Milly?" He asked looking down at the only person who could make him smile. She lifted her head to look up at him and gave him a smile that was filled with all her baby teeth before nodding.

"Will there be mermaids?" She asked innocently.

"Who knows." Seb answered.

"And Dolphins."

"More than likely." Jim replied.

"And Starfish and Whales and Fishies?" Seb smiled at her innocence. If only she would stay this way forever.

"Millions." He answered.

* * *

The reception room was empty, apart from the receptionist who was busy filing her nails. She didn't even bother to look up when they reached the desk.

"If you go through, you'll have to wait; there's a swimming tournament going on." She sighed in a bored manner.

"That's ok. We can go and watch." Jim said with extra charm before he slapped some money on the counter.

"Go through." She added taking the money from the counter and waving her hand absent mindedly towards the doors.

The trio set off into the pool hall to find it full of people; waiting for the action to begin.

"Seb." Emily yanked him down to her level with her tiny hand. "Will I drown?" She whispered to him as if she didn't want Jim to hear.

He smiled before tickling her slightly, making her laughter resurface. "Not with me and Jim around." He sent her a wink." Let's go get you changed. Jim. I'm taking Emmy to get changed."

But Jim only nodded in response as he eyed up his target for today. Carl Powers was already pointing and laughing at him, talking to his friends about him.

But for the first time, he was ok with it; after today Carl Powers would never laugh at him again.

"Only Jim can call me Emmy." The little girl insisted. Bringing Jim out of his thoughts. He smiled slightly to himself. He loved it when she spoke those magic words.

Seb only sighed and rolled his eyes as he pulled her further away from Jim into one of the only free cubicles.

She stood waiting patiently as he rifled around in the bag he had bought with them, searching for her costume.

"Reach for the sky." He told her as he turned back around to start undressing her. "Don't even think about it." He pointed his finger in her face when he noticed her eyeing the blue curtain devilishly. She had a habit of streaking around the garden when she was bored. He knew that look. She had been preparing to make a run for it when he next turned his back.

She pouted a little as he made her step into her green Kermit the Frog costume, but she burst into a fit of giggles when he started tickling her.

"Take the armbands, and go and stand with Jim. Don't even think about running." He told her sternly as she took the armbands off him.

That was one of the things he loved about her; she always did as she was told. Except when it was their Mother telling her what to do, then she would always do the complete opposite of whatever she was asked. He watched her for a moment as she made her way over to Jim, who still hadn't moved from his position, and took his hand with her free one, before quickly changing himself. He didn't want to miss any of the action either.

* * *

The race was about to begin. Carl didn't have much time left. The crowd of school teachers, other pupils and parents had all gathered around the edge of the pool, ready to cheer on whoever they had come to support.

Jim, Sebastian and Emily had moved upstairs when it became apparent that they would not be able to see anything from downstairs. But from their new vantage point, they could see everything. Even Emily who had her arms wrapped firmly around her brother's neck and her legs around his waist, sitting comfortably on his hip, could see everything.

"Do you know someone down there?" She asked her two favourite people in the world. She was more than a little curious as to why they had moved to get a better look when she didn't recognise anyone.

"No, we just thought you'd like to see how it's done first." Seb told the lie to her gently. She looked, for a moment, as if she didn't believe them. But she had seen Jim when he was angry, although he didn't know it, and that was something she never wanted to see again. So, instead of protesting, she simply nodded her head and turned to look at the pool again.

* * *

The loud cheering bothered Emily. She wasn't used to being around that many people at one time. She covered her ears with her tiny hands but continued to watch none the less.

None of them had any idea of how long they had been stood there when it happened.

One of the swimmers began to splash, like Emily did in the bathtub. But it quickly turned into something that seemed much more serious. The splashing became more urgent, almost as if the person had no control over what they were doing.

People were beginning to take notice and panic. They were shouting to the lifeguards and medical staff, anyone who would listen.

But by the time the boy was out of the water, he wasn't moving. Didn't seem to be breathing.

Jim was smiling like Christmas had come early, but quickly disappeared into the shadows behind them, he had a quick job he needed to do before they left.

Sebastian was holding tightly onto his sister. She appeared to be fine, but she couldn't seem to look away from the scene down below them.

He felt no remorse for the boy. The silly idiot should never had laughed at Jim. It would most probably be the last thing you ever did if you made that mistake. Carl Powers was evidence of that.

He gently placed his sister down on the floor and crouched in front of her.

"Do you still want to learn how to swim?" He asked her gently. To which she shook her head, and stood on her tip toes to look over the balcony again. "Let's get dressed." He started to walk away but turned back when he realised no one was following him. "Emily." He called to her, holding his hand out.

She ran over to him and took his hand, holding onto it tightly as they descended the stairs.

Not even bothering to step into a cubicle, he took out her clothes and dressed her; leaving her costume on underneath.

"Trainers hidden?" He asked Jim who appeared behind her out of nowhere.

"Ohhhh yes." He replied with that smile that meant he couldn't be happier.

The two boys each held a hand out to the girl as they left the building. Neither of them noticing that she kept glancing back every few seconds.

* * *

**Please let me know what you think?**

**This story will continue into A Study In Pink just to let you know...**

**:D**

**Thank you for your time.**

**FB**


	2. Daydreaming and Housing Ads

**I know it doesn't look very cold when we meet Mike for the first time, but can we just imagine it does?**

**Thankyou :)**

**(I don't own, only Emily)**

* * *

"_Are you all packed and ready to go honey?" The older woman asked looking over at the other person in the room._

_"I think so Gran." The girl replied as she left the bedroom to look around the house for any leftover belongings. "Yeah. All ready." She added as she re-entered the room a few minutes later. A bright smile was lighting up her face. Now that the day was finally here, she could no longer contain her excitement. She was going on holiday with her Grandmother. She could hardly believe it. She would be away from her Mother six whole weeks._

_As the older woman beckoned her forward, a knock was heard at the front door, followed by a series of grumbling sounds coming from downstairs. _

_The older woman kneeled on the ground when the child was close enough and undid the clasp of her necklace. "I want you to have this." She said as she put it around the child's neck. Only when it was secure did the girl look down._

_She gasped in shock. "But this is you're favourite thing in the whole entire world." She whispered as she studied the little silver elephant hanging from the chain._

_"No." The girl looked up in confusion. "You are." With that, the girl rushed into the older woman's arms, whispering her thanks into the woman's neck._

_"Emily. You have a visitor. Its Jim." Her Mother called sounding bored from downstairs. The girl bounded from the safe embrace of her Grandmother and down the stairs, completely missing the look of fear that passed over the older woman's face at the sound of the name Jim. _

_The girl leaped into the open arms of the teenage boy who was eagerly awaiting her descent. _

_"You came." Her voice was muffled as she was speaking into his shoulder. But she was happy. He could practically feel the happiness radiating off her in waves._

_"Of course I came. I couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye now could I?" His Irish accent had become thicker when his voice had broken. It was a voice that was, at that moment, laced with a secret. He let her down gently and noticed the necklace round her neck. "From your Gran?" He asked pointing it out. The girl nodded as she began to fiddle with it as another woman with the same sparkling blue eyes as the girl entered the room. _

_"I'm going to miss you Jim." The girl told him, not looking away from her necklace, her foot shuffling awkwardly on the floor._

_"I'm going to miss you too, my little elephant." Her smile broadened when she heard the newest nickname he had come up with for her. _

_The other woman opened her mouth to speak, but what ever it was she was going to say, was cut off by a loud thump from upstairs. All heads looked up towards the ceiling, like it would magically turn invisible to let them see what was going on. _

_"Gran?" The girl shouted up the stairs. But when no reply came, she slowly made her way up. Every other step creaking under her weight the only sound to be heard._

_As she re-entered her bedroom, she gasped. There on the floor, was her Gran. A pool of blood surrounded her head. Her glassy eyes staring up at a ceiling they could no longer see._

_"Mum!" The girl shouted. She wanted to remain calm. "_ _MUM" She tried again when she got no reply._

_This time, her shout had been answered. She took a deep breath as someone ascended the stairs. _

_"What?" The younger woman snapped as she entered the room. But she froze when she saw what was happening. Her face drained of colour, and her eyes filled with tears, that would fall any second. "Call an Ambulance." The girl did not need to be told twice. She ran back past the woman and Jim who she had not heard come upstairs, and down the stairs, almost tumbling to the floor in her haste to reach the phone. She was quietly mumbling to herself, cursing that they could not afford more than one phone. _

_She made the necessary call and watched from where she stood as Jim, his hands in his pockets, a sad apologetic look covering his face, casually strolled down the stairs and made his way towards her. _

_When she hung up Jim grabbed her and held her close. He had looked close to tears, and slowly, he rocked her back and forth in a way that felt comforting. _

_But no tears fell from Emily Cooper. She felt numb and distant. She pulled out of Jim's arms and looked straight into his eyes._

_"You should be an actor Jim." She said before she walked past him and out the front door to await the Ambulance. She had know for a long time, exactly how Jim felt towards her Gran. He had hated her. Loathed her would be a better word to describe it. But she loved them both. So whenever she saw one, she always tried to keep the other away. _

_As the sound of the Ambulance began to get louder, so did the sound of someone calling her name._

_"Emily."_

_Turning to look behind her, she spotted her brother running towards her. _

_"Emily."_

"Emily." A new voice bought her out of her thoughts. She turned to see who it belonged to.

On the inside she cringed, on the outside, she smiled brightly. "Yes Mr Roid." Her boss, Mr Roid, was a rude, inconsiderate man who seemed to enjoy talking to a woman's chest more than her face. He never called them by their surnames. He had claimed from day one, that he thought it would make the workplace a more friendly environment if he acknowledged them all by their first names. But none of the woman working in St Bart's called him by his first name. It had always been, and would always be, Mr Roid. There were of course, many rumours circulating the ladies cloakroom, other reasons as to why he enjoyed calling them by their first names. The most popular being that he had a lot of free time, no wife and apparently a rather vivid imagination.

Dressed in a suit that looked a little worse for wear with a grey shirt tucked into his trousers, that already had armpit stains visible, he began to complain to her about the many down sides of daydreaming. This only led to another episode of Emily letting her imagination take over. But instead of her worst memory, she visualised quitting her job and running away from St Bart's, never to return again.

Being one of only two filing clerks, had it's perks. Well _a_ perk. The fact that they had a whole room to themselves. Even though there was really no room for more than just one person at a time. The other girl, (who Emily had never actually met), and Emily, would take alternate shifts, so there was always someone on during the daytime.

The only down side to this perk (and for Emily, there was always a downside) was that when there was more than one person in the room, it felt like a squeeze. The only way in which to make room, was to take out the desks, the filing cabinets and the photo copier. It felt even more of a squeeze when it was Mr Roid popping in whenever he had an opportunity. Which was a lot more often than you'd think

"Are you even listening to me Emily?" He asked now snapping his fingers in front of her face.

"Yes Mr Roid. Of course I am" She replied a little sarcastically.

"Get on with your work." He sighed before taking a look at her legs that were crossed on her spinning chair. Her pencil skirt had been risen considerably to achieve this comfortable position. But she had thought, perhaps a little too hopefully, that Mr Roid, or any other passing men, would not notice, seeing as they were still under the desk.

She huffed as she straightened them out and pulled her skirt down to cover her pale legs once more, slipping her four inch heels on as she did so. She straightened her blouse for good measure, just in case. She really had had enough of this man and his wandering eyes. She cast him one last look, a look that sent a message; _"Get the hell out of my office." _He didn't need to look at her for very long to understand it, and within seconds, he had vanished.

It was January. Winter. She scolded herself for not being able to find her trousers this morning, and not getting up early enough to have more time. Her legs would freeze when she left to go home. Actually they were freezing now, so it wouldn't really make much difference.

One of the many problems with this room was that in the winter, it froze. Countless times she had put a heater under the desk to warm her numb toes, but the next day, it would vanish again. After a while, she had just given up retrieving it in favour of carefully running up and down the stairs a few times a day in order for her to get the circulation going.

But in the Summer, you baked. The other clerk had valiantly tried to use a metal fan that would at least move the stagnant air around. But their was no room.

Emily had purchased a mini fan, small enough to rest on the desk that blew cool air right into your face. But that had been stolen only a couple of hours after she had set it up. She had never been able to find it since.

With a sad sigh, she turned her attention back to the stack of papers on her desk. Then to the newspaper beside it. She really did need to search for a place to live. Her Mother was driving her crazy and she couldn't take working in a small office, only to go home to a small bedroom. She needed space. Even if it was only one more inch.

She ignored the article of another suicide, she would read it later when she got home, and skipped straight to the housing ads.

Her eyes skimmed each and every ad. But nothing popped out at her. Nothing that screamed 'look at me' anyway. There was always one or two that made her giggle. Just the other day she had found an ad that read: _"Wanted roommate, no pets, must me non-smoker, must be Female, attractive and open about being filmed." _At first it had felt creepy to even be reading something like that. But then she had started laughing. And when she started, she couldn't stop. She had to admire the bravery that came with writing that ad. But she had quickly drawn a cross through it.

Her attention was too focused on the paper in front of her to notice the man who was now standing in the doorway, watching her with a faint smile on his lips. A smile that grew when she started laughing again.

"Emily." She jumped before turning to the doorway. There leaning in the doorway, was Mike Stamford.

On her first day as a clerk, Mike had been the only person, other than Mr Roid, willing to speak to her. At first, she had been a little shy, she was with everyone, but he made her feel welcome, and after a while, she had become more comfortable around him. Mike was the reason she felt more confident in herself these days. He never judged, or criticized. He just listened when you needed to talk to someone. In a way, he had become like the Father she had never known. And she was grateful to have him in her life.

He was also the only man here who didn't look at her like she was a piece of meat.

"You scared the life out of me. You know I hate it when you do that." She scolded him, her hand over her chest, letting the breath she had been holding escape through her mouth.

"What were you laughing at this time?" He changed the subject quickly. He knew the reason for her jumpiness and that she didn't like to talk about it.

"This ad. Here listen" She spun her chair round to face him before she continued. "_Wanted roommate, pets welcome, smoker debateable, must be comfortable with open nudity." _It wasn't even that funny, but she manage to crack up again.

Mike who had grown used to her laughing outbursts, simply laughed along with her. They both took a few seconds to get their breath back, Emily had to wipe away a lone tear that had escaped.

He only spoke again when he had eventually calmed down. "Ready for lunch?" Her shoulders relaxed dramatically.

"I thought you'd never ask." She replied. Grabbing the coat from the hook on the back of the door, she exited her office, or cupboard depending on how you looked at it. "Can we go outside?"

"You'll get cold." He told her, pointing out the obvious.

"I know, but I can't stand another lunch break sitting in that cafeteria." She whined as she did her coat buttons up, giving him her best puppy god eyed look.

"Don't blame me if you freeze." He replied not even bothering to argue.

"Wouldn't dream of it." She answered as she beamed at him, her strides getting longer. The quicker she got out of this building, the better.

* * *

**Believe In Sherlock**

**FB**


	3. John Watson

**I would like to make a quick shout out to Anon: if you're reading this, your review really made me smile. So now I'm worried that this chapter and the more that will follow, will not be good enough. Thank you for taking the time to read this story.**

**I don't own. Only Emily. **

**Apologies for any spelling/punctuation mistakes I have probably made.**

* * *

"What do you mean you didn't bring any lunch?" Mike asked patiently from his seat on the park bench. The two companions had taken a slow walk away from St Bart's, talking about anything and everything and had come to a stop conveniently where there happened to be a rather uncomfortable looking seat, set in a rather empty park.

"You know me Mike. I get up, get cleaned, get dressed, and leave. I scavenge food on the way if I can." She answered with a dismissing wave of her hand as if she had told this story a thousand times. Since she had started work at St Bart's, this routine had been the norm for Emily. Actually, if she thought about it, it had been the norm when she had still been going to school.

Ever since her half brother had left home to do whatever it was he had left home to do, their Mother had become somewhat of a wreck. She had taken to drinking first thing in the morning, would pass out at some point in the afternoon, and then when she had recovered, would empty another few bottles of whatever she could find. There had been many mornings when Emily had descended the stairs to find her Mother in some unusual position on the floor where she had fallen from dancing around the room. But even worse, there were nights when she could hear every sigh, and moan her Mother and whatever man, sometimes even woman, were making as they, well, did their drunken business. Emily shuddered just thinking about those nights.

"Here." Mike began to rummage through his bag that was constantly at his side. "If you don't look after yourself, someone has to." He turned back to face her with a couple of sandwiches neatly wrapped in cling film in his hand.

"Mike, I can't." Emily refused straight away, shaking her head adamantly.

"Emily." Mike sighed taking her hand, he held it so her palm was facing up. "Just eat." He slapped the food into her hand.

"I'm not hungry." She attempted to insist. But her stomach had other ideas. With a loud rumble, it bought her lie abruptly to an end. She was actually surprised that the people walking across the paths didn't hear it, and it was in vain that she hoped Mike hadn't heard it. But judging by the slight smirk on his face, he had indeed heard.

"Just eat." He pulled out the newspaper from his bag and flipped it over to the front page, folding it in half so it was easier to hold. The silence between the pair wasn't awkward. Rather the opposite. They were both comfortable with each other's presence. Emily was grateful for company that wasn't slurring their words, or letting their eyes roam.

She stared off into the distance as she took her first bite of the sandwich. She hadn't realised just how hungry she was until she started to chew it. Her thoughts turned to her half brother as she continued with her meal. Neither she or her Mother had heard from him in a while. They used to receive letters every week, letting them know he was alright and that he missed them dearly. But it had never gone into detail about where he was, or what he was doing. On those days that the letters arrived, her Mother would stay sober for a few hours. Or at least long enough to read the letter.

It had been so long since she had seen him, that she often wondered if she would recognise him if she were to pass him in the street. Perhaps she already had.

A noise that was getting closer made it through her subconsciousness. A tap against the pavement. _Tap, pause, tap, pause. _Her mind still elsewhere, she looked at the cause of the noise. A man, who looked to be more than a few years older than her, his face set in seriousness, was rushing past them.

"John." Mike's voice beside her snapped her from her daze. "Wait here." Mike told her as she took another bite of the half eaten sandwich. He had a hold of the handle of his bag, his newspaper held tightly in his other hand as he called out to the man again. "John Watson." By this point he had vacated his seat in favour of walking the slight distance to the other man.

The other man turned, the look on his face told Emily he really was not in the mood to be stopped but paused in his expedition none the less.

"Stamford. Mike Stamford." The bespectacled man said as he indicated himself. "We were at Bart's together." The other man looked down at the ground before he switched his crutch to his other hand.

"Yes, sorry, yes Mike." He took Mike's offered hand. "Hello, hi." Emily got the impression he would rather be anywhere else judging by the unimpressed tone of his voice.

"Yeah, I know, I got fat." Emily now understood why the stranger had not recognised Mike. She quickly swallowed her mouthful of food in order to speak.

"Is_ that_ why you gave me your sandwich?" She called over to him. They both looked back towards her.

_Wow. _John thought to himself. The girl on the bench sent him a polite smile. He nodded his head back towards her, letting her know he wasn't ignoring her friendliness. Her blonde hair shimmered in the light from the winter sun that was peaking out slightly from between the clouds. She was a beauty. He only stopped looking at her when Mike spoke again.

"I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at. What happened?" He ignored Emily's question in favour of turning back to John.

"I got shot." The man deadpanned. Even from her seat on the bench, Emily could feel the embarrassment emanating off the two men.

"Do you want to catch up?" Mike asked politely, gesturing behind him to the bench.

John looked around, contemplating the mans offer. What was the harm in just catching up with an old friend? "Coffee?"

"I thought you'd never ask." The girl from the bench spoke from beside the two men, neither of which had heard her approach them, even in her heels.

After devouring the sandwiches, Emily had become rather thirsty, rather quickly.

"John Watson, this is Emily Cooper. Emily Cooper this is John Watson." Mike introduced the pair. She smiled angelically at John as he offered her his hand, she accepted it as she spoke.

"Know any good coffee shops then?" She asked directing the question at whoever was listening, flicking her gaze between the two men as she tucked her hands into her coat pocket to make sure she had some spare change.

* * *

The trio had taken a seat back on the bench and were quietly taking their time to sip their drinks. She briefly glanced at the watch she only ever used for work.

"Do you have to leave soon?" Mike asked her from his spot on the other side of John.

"No, I have plenty of time. Let's face it though, I'm only missing Mr Roid looking at my chest and the longer I'm away from that man, the better." She replied not bothering to look in Mike's direction.

"Is he really that bad Em?" Mike asked patiently.

"You have no idea." Emily mumbled back to just loud enough for him to hear before she took another sip of her coffee.

The three were once again silent as they continued their drinks. Another silence had descended, but this time it felt awkward.

More from a lack of things to do rather than discomfort, Emily slipped her heels off, wiggling her toes around in the hope that she could warm them up a little.

From the corner of her eye, she watched as Mike kept looking at John. She knew that he had many questions to ask of the man, but none of them passed his lips. Instead it was John who started a conversation.

"Are you still at Bart's then?" He asked politely in an attempt to break the awkward tension that had developed into a tension so thick, it could have been cut with a knife.

"Teaching now. Bright young things, like we used to be. God I hate them." A smile broke out on Emily's face. She was used to the way Mike talked about his students. Which was rather a lot.

"Is that how you two know each other?" John asked taking it in turn to look at the two he was sat between.

"Sadly no." Emily answered straight away. "I couldn't afford to be a student. Went straight from school to work. I'm the Filing Clerk. But Mike was the only person kind enough to talk to me on my first day. Apart from Mr Roid of course." She added as an after thought.

"What about you? Just staying in town 'til you get sorted?" Mike asked.

"Can't afford London on and Army pension."

"Ah, and you couldn't bear to be anywhere else. That's not the John Watson I know."

"Yeah, I'm not the John Watson..." Emily had been watching the clouds as she traced the letters on her coffee cup with her thumb. Grey, looked like it was going to fall any minute. _Great, numb and wet legs,_ she thought to herself.

"Couldn't Harry help?"

"Yeah, like _that's _gonna happen." John replied sarcastically.

"I dunno, get a flat share or something?" Mike shrugged trying to think of ways to help.

"Come on- who'd want me for a flat mate?"

"I know the feeling." Emily mumbled beside him. John turned to look at her now.

"You looking for somewhere too?" He asked bringing her into the conversation. She nodded thoughtfully.

"Every ad I've seen, is either too creepy sounding, too expensive or just doesn't appeal to me you know?" From the other side of the bench, Mike chuckled. She leaned forward now to look at him, as John too, turned back to face him.

"What?" They both asked at the same time. Emily looked completely confused now, but John looked like he was annoyed at the fact that he was being laughed at for his predicament.

"Well, you're the second person to say that to me today. You're the third." He looked over at Emily now, who was brushing stray hairs away from her face and tucking them behind her ear. The pair beside him looked at each other again, now sharing a look of utter confusion and curiosity. It was John that asked for them.

"Who was the first?"

Mike smiled as he stood. "Come with me." With that, he started to head back in the general direction of St Bart's. Emily quickly slipped her heels back on and stood, waiting for John.

"Slow down Mike." She shouted to him. The man stopped at a bin, placed his empty coffee cup into it and patiently waited for his friends. He smiled to himself as John and Emily began to walk towards him. His idea was brilliant, he wandered why he hadn't thought of it sooner.

"Was he like this when you were at Bart's together?" She asked the man beside her. There was no way she was going to walk as quickly as Mike had. At least not in her heels. So she settled for going at a slow pace with John.

"Well. He wasn't fat." _Tap, pause, tap, pause. _"But apart from that, he's pretty much the same."

Emily chuckled. She liked this man. Even if she had know him for what felt like only five minutes. There was something about him, something that reminded her of her brother. A kindness. It had shone through when he had stayed to catch up with Mike. Although he hadn't really wanted to stay, he had, simply because Mike was an old friend.

There were many times when her bother could not stand the sight of her. But as a girl, she had always wanted to play with him, and Jim of course. And being the decent older brother that he was, he let her. Or maybe he just felt sorry for her that she had no one else to play with. Either way, his kindness had always beaten his annoyance with her.

Emily, caught up in thoughts of her brother, stumbled. If it wasn't for the hand that John used to catch her arm, she would surely have fallen. She took a deep breath as she regained her breath and listened to Mike titter.

"Thank you." She told him earnestly, looking up into his worried face.

"Your welcome." He replied not letting go off her arm just in case. "You alright?"

"Yeah. Bloody heels." She murmured the last part to herself as they started off again.

John hadn't laughed at her stumbling, but at sound of her cursing, he couldn't help it. She certainly wasn't your average girl. She laughed along with him as he offered her his arm. She gratefully took it as they carried on their way.

"Mike where are we going?" She asked her friend as they finally caught up to him.

"St Bart's of course." He replied mysteriously.

"Eugh. Of course." She uttered.

* * *

**BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK**

**FB**


	4. Sherlock Holmes

The trio had arrived back at the grand building that was St Bart's much too soon for Emily's liking. Their journey had been filled with small talk. Mainly between Mike and John who were discussing their time at Bart's together. Emily had stayed quiet, walking between the two men, content to just listen, occasionally speaking up when she was asked a question, or to ask Mike where they would be going when they reached the hospital. Every time she asked, he merely turned to her and smiled by way answering.

It was now a good twenty minutes later, and they were stood outside a door that lead to the lab.

For Emily, this was a first. She had never had the pleasure of looking around the whole building. On her first day, she had only been shown the essentials; The cloakroom, the ladies loos, the supply room and of course her office. There had been many days when she had been trapped in her office, buried under a pile of paperwork, that she had longed to run through the hallways of St Bart's. Well, perhaps not run. But she wanted to explore every crevice of the building. (Save for the men's rooms, she really had no urge to go in there). And once, she had mustered the courage to do just that. But her courage had been shaken when five minutes later she had become lost, walking down one corridor one minute, only to be walking back the other way through the same corridor a few moments later in order to not get any more misplaced.

If it hadn't been Mike who had been on his way down to visit her, she probably would have been adrift for an awful lot longer.

As Mike gently knocked on the door, she once more shared a perplexed look with John. Why on Earth was Mike taking them to the Lab?

But the bigger man did not wait for a reply from the other side. He held it open behind him for his two companions to follow.

John indicated with his head that Emily could go through first. She smiled at his politeness, unlinked her arm from his and followed Mike into the room, holding it open for John as Mike continued in.

Emily began to take in her surroundings straight away; a huge table centered the room and was covered with microscopes and other technical looking things that looked rather expensive and fragile. Beakers and test tubes with varying colours and amounts of liquids along with other science equipment she could no longer remember the names of. A computer was set in the corner of the room, on top of drawers that Emily was curious to have a look through. Various cabinets decorated the walls, their contents a mystery to Emily

A tall man was working at the far end of the table. He had looked up at them briefly as they had entered, taking a few moments longer to look at the woman than he had the man.

"Well, bit different from my day." John stated as he too, took a look around the room.

"You've no idea." Mike chuckled. "Welcome to St Bartholomew's lab Emily." He added on when he noticed the girl looking around in awe.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine." Emily noticed the tall man for the first time, she had been to fascinated with the objects around her that she hadn't even paid attention to the other occupants of the room. He had a deep voice, probably capable of silencing an entire room. Emily couldn't help but find him somewhat attractive.

"What's wrong with the landline?" Mike asked as he moved away to sit down, leaving Emily leaning her hip against the table and John standing, at the other end of the room.

"I prefer to text." The stranger replied.

"Sorry." Mike didn't sound sorry in the slightest. "It's in my coat."

"Hang on." Emily dug around in her coat pocket. "You can us-" She had been holding her phone out to the man when it started to go off in her hand, causing her to jump. The Undertones performing Teenage Kicks filled up the lab. She checked the caller ID. Her shoulders visibly sagged at the person on the other end. "Sorry." She flicked her eyes back to the other man, hoping he would understand.

"It's no problem." He told her. She smiled gratefully before turning away.

"Er, here. Use Mine." John supplied as he took his phone out.

"Oh. Thank you." The stranger got up out of his seat and walked towards him.

Emily, after an internal battle, had quickly pressed the button to silence her phone, before slipping it back into her pocket. She only had to wait for a few seconds until it stopped ringing altogether.

"It's an old friend of mine, John Watson." Mike introduced him pointing. "And that's my not so old friend Emily Cooper." She smiled briefly at Mike, but quickly turned away at the disappointed look he was giving her. He knew who had been trying to make contact with her, but she was in no mood to talk to her Mother at the moment. But then, there never really was a time when she was in the mood to talk to her Mother.

The tall man spared the girl another glance as her shoulders sagged once more as he took the offered phone.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" The stranger asked the man beside him as he now started using his phone.

Emily's head snapped towards the man, who only continued to focus on the item in his hand. She then glanced at the other two men; John looked baffled, while Mike held a knowing smile.

It took John a moment to answer. "Sorry?"

"Which was it- Afghanistan or Iraq?" The man supplied immediately, repeating the same question.

"Afghanistan. Sorry... how did yo-" But the lab door opened before he could finish his sentence.

"Ah, Molly, coffee, thank you." He handed the phone back to John after snapping it shut. "What happened to the lipstick?" He questioned the new arrival.

"It wasn't working for me." She replied as she handed the mug over, sounding a little awkward talking to the him. Or perhaps it was just nerves that had overtaken her.

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now." He informed her as he walked back to his seat, making a funny gesture with his hand and taking a sip of coffee on his way.

"Ok." The woman muttered. Emily's jaw dropped to the floor. Was this woman really going to let someone talk to her like that? Was this woman only going to say 'Ok' and leave it at that. She would have said something herself if any words had occurred to her. It also didn't help that she was really not very good at talking to strangers, not unless they talked to her first, so she only smiled a little at the other woman as she made her way back to the door. In return, she received a timid smile, the cheeks of the woman had turned pink when she had been told her mouth was now 'too small' looking. Emily couldn't honestly blame her.

"How do you feel about the violin?" It seemed the stranger was asking no one in particular as he was too busy looking at whatever he was doing. Both John and Emily looked at the woman who was now making her exit from the room, before they turned to Mike who's smile had turned smug as he held a tube of what looked like blood in his hands.

"I'm sorry what?" John asked when he realised that he, along with Emily, were the one's being spoken to.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking." He answered as he continued typing. "Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother either of you?" He looked round at the pair of them. "Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." The smile he sent them was clearly false.

"Oh, you... you told him about us?" John asked Mike. But Emily didn't see how he could have. Since meeting John in the park, she hadn't seen or heard Mike talk to anyone on his phone, and she knew for a fact that he was still fairly unsure on how to use it, so she would certainly have noticed him texting.

"Not a word." Mike shook his head as if he had been expecting this reaction.

"Well, then who said anything about flatmates?" Emily spoke up now. It was usually whenever she was in a state of confusion that her shyness disappeared.

"_I _did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult leap." He answered as he put his coat on and tied his scarf securely around his neck. "I'm not just talking about you though, I'm talking about her as well. A not so old friend of Mike's who's had enough of living with her Mother." He added as if it was an after thought.

"How did you know about Afghanistan?"

"How did you know about my Mother?" They both questioned at the same time.

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together, the three of us ought to be able to afford it." He responded without glancing them, checking his phone instead before making his way towards them. "We meet there tomorrow evening; seven o' clock. Sorry- gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." He said as he started to walk past them, heading for the door.

"Is that it?" John turned to look at him.

"Is that what?" The man took a few paces away from the door, closer to the pair.

"We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?" Emily couldn't quite believe it either.

"Problem?" He asked looking between the two of them. Emily looked over at Mike in disbelief, but Mike just sat and watched, as if the three people before him were part of an entertaining show that was about to end.

"We don't know a thing about each other; we don't know where we're meeting."

"And we don't even know you're name." Emily interrupted standing up straight.

The man looked closely at John for a moment before he started speaking. " I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him- possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic- quite correctly, I'm afraid."

For the second time that afternoon, Emily's jaw dropped as John shuffled his feet awkwardly. But he hadn't finished. "You." He said now, turning to her. "You're a Filing Clerk, have been for a while, but you're a bored filing clerk. You feel uncomfortable in those clothes but you wear them anyway so that you look smart for work. You don't get on at all with your Mother and you never have done." He stopped, but only because he was probably running out of breath.

"That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" He asked them sounding smug, a smirk on his face that made him look even more attractive, before opening the door.

Emily finally found her voice to speak but was interrupted before she could even begin as the man looked back at them as he held the door open for himself.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." He informed the pair of them, sending a wink at Emily before looking round at Mike. "Afternoon."

They watched as the door shut behind him, and his figure finally disappeared from the thin window. At the same time, they both turned their heads to Mike. The didn't need to ask him the question that was going through their minds.

"Yeah. He's always like that." He informed them.

"I'm sorry." Both of the remaining men focused on Emily. "Did he say he left his riding crop in the mortuary?" Mike giggled at her as he looked at his watch, trust Emily to focus on that.

"Don't you have to get back to work?" He pointed out to her.

She looked down at the watch on her wrist; a Christmas gift the first year she had been working here. To this day it was still a mystery to her. It had been sealed in a box, that had been wrapped beautifully in purple paper, it had almost been a shame to open it. But that, obviously, hadn't been the mystery. The mystery had been that she had no idea who had bought it for her. It came with no note, no card, nothing. It had been sat under the Christmas tree on Christmas day, patiently waiting for her. For a minute she had begun to believe in Santa Clause again, before she quickly realised that they had no fireplace. But it was a lovely watch. A silver face with the actual numbers instead of Roman numerals, held securely round her wrist by a silver strap. Not too big, or too small and neither was it too expensive. It was just perfect for her. Thus being the reason she only wore it to work; if she wore it anywhere else, it would more than likely get damaged within the first five minutes.

She had to do a double take before she actually acknowledged the time.

"Shit." She shouted, bringing John out of his daze. He had looked back at the door as if waiting for the man, Sherlock, to come back, no doubt wondering how the hell he had known that much about him and the girl next to him. "I've really got to go." She started walking backwards to the door speaking to John more than Mike. "Are you gonna to go tomorrow?" She asked him as her back came into contact with the door.

"Er, well-"

"Mike can you give him my number or something? I've really got to dash." She started feeling round for the handle.

"Sure." Mike nodded.

"It was nice meeting you John." She stepped away from the door and opened it as she moved.

"Likewise." He replied.

"Thanks for the sandwiches Mike." She shouted as she left the room, speed walking down the corridor before she remembered she had no idea which direction to go and spun on he heel back to the lab to get directions from Mike back to her office.

"Thanks again." She shouted as she left for the second time, the instructions fresh on her mind as she speeded up even more.

John watched as her figure too, disappeared from the window, before turning to Mike again.

"Yeah. She's always like that." Mike informed him with a hint of fondness laced into his tone. "Come on. Let's go get her number for you." He added before getting up put of his seat. He couldn't help but hope that they would go tomorrow.

* * *

**BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK**

**FB**


	5. Hometime

She needn't have worried about getting into trouble for being late back to her office. She had arrived back, with seconds to spare before Mr Roid had made another visit to her. He hadn't failed to notice her heaving chest though, but he didn't say anything directly about it. He was to busy staring at it whilst attempting to form the question 'did she have a nice rest at lunch' into an acceptable sentence.

He had failed and asked her if she had had a nice breast for lunch. By the time he had left her office again, she was more than ready for the day to be over. But the day being over meant having to go home, and going home meant being in the presence of her Mother. Emily had always had a routine when she arrived home: Check Mother, get food, go to bedroom, do something to prevent boredom, go to bed, wake up, go to work. It was a never ending cycle of boredom, that she had a terrifying feeling of impending doom would go on forever; that she would never leave home, never find a better job, and never have any fun.

But instead of letting her mind linger on what might be awaiting her in the future, she let her thoughts stray to the tall man, Sherlock Holmes, she had met, and the question that had been circling round her brain since he had left. How the hell had he known about her Mother? She had briefly wondered how he had known that she was a Filing Clerk too, but she put it down to the fact that he might have walked past her office a number of times, even if she had never seen him before. It wasn't as if she could watch everybody as they hurried to their destination. And unless they had come to her office for a specific reason,_ everyone_ hurried past her office.

She was half tempted to look the man up on the internet. But she didn't have the time, her shift had just finished, and she wanted out of this building. Making sure everything was neat and tidy for tomorrow, the computer turned off, the files safely locked, she grabbed her coat and set off, taking her phone from her pocket to check if her Mother had called again. She had of course and left a number of voice mails. But she would listen to them later, she was more interested in the text that was waiting for her.

**Hi Emily. Just wanted to know if you wanted to meet up before we head to Baker Street tomorrow? If you're going obviously. -John.**

It was obvious that John was going, so it was with a smile that she replied.

**I would love to. I finish work at five. Where should I meet you? - Emily.**

She started her walk home, feeling slightly happier than she normally did at this time of day. Perhaps it was because she was getting the feeling back in her toes, perhaps it was because she had had something to eat at lunchtime. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that she had apparently made a new friend, something she hadn't managed to do in a long time.

**How about I meet you there? By the entrance? If that doesn't sound creepy? - John.**

**Not at all. I look forward to it. - Emily.**

Yes. It was definitely because she had made a new friend.

* * *

"Mother." She shouted into the hallway, shutting the front door gently behind her. She slipped her heels off and hung her coat up before heading to the kitchen to plate up the fresh Fish and Chips she had just bought.

She walked around the downstairs half of the house, letting her food cool down for a moment or two as she searched for her Mother. She found her in the front room. Passed out on the settee with an empty bottle of wine lying innocently on the floor next to her and a line of drool falling down her chin.

Emily rolled her eyes as she shut the door firmly behind her, taking her phone from the pocket of her coat as she passed it before she grabbed the necessary cutlery she needed from the drawer and headed upstairs to her room.

The safety of her room, was only a few paces away, but she had to travel past the shut door in order to reach it first.

The door had been firmly shut in such a way ever since the incident all those years ago. The incident that occurred the same day she got the necklace that still encircled her neck.

When the Ambulance had arrived, her Gran had been pronounced dead at the scene. It had then only taken a couple of minutes for the Police to arrive. She had been wrapped in a blanket that she had been told was for shock. But she hadn't needed it. She hadn't been in shock. She had been in denial. She had truly believed her favourite woman in the world was still alive. Still breathing, still talking and still laughing in that strange way that always had Emily in stitches no matter her mood.

She didn't want to think that the older woman was now completely covered by a sheet, about to be driven away to somewhere she would never be seen again. The only evidence she had been there at all that day was now the nasty stain on the carpet and the necklace safely secured around Emily's neck.

She didn't enter the house until long after the Police had gone, sitting on the low wall that was only a few feet away from her front door.

That was the night she had moved her suitcases, still packed and ready for their departure to a holiday that would never happen, into the spare room. It was also the night she had started to become more distant from her brother, and therefore Jim.

Now, as Emily strode across the landing, not even letting her gaze flicker to the closed door, she shook her head away from these thoughts. She made herself comfortable on the bed and dug into her food. It was just what she needed.

It was with more than a little reluctance that she begun to listen to the messages her Mother had left her from earlier. She had three in total. Two of them were mainly a flurry of sentences that had been slurred together to form a line of dialogue that was indistinguishable. But the third and final message was clearer. Even so, she had listen to it twice before she could really understand it.

"Emiiilly, I have seen him! I've seen Seb! I pasedhiminthestreet! I told youdidn'tI? Itoldyou he would be back!" And there, the message abruptly ended. She stared down at the screen of her phone in confusion as she hung up.

Her Mother had obviously been drunk when she had called. But she had sounded rather serious. She even spoke with an edge of excitement in her tone. But there had been many times, too many times to count in fact, where the woman currently passed out on the settee downstairs, had professed to have spotted her eldest and favourite child, walking down the street, parking a car, walking a dog, or Emily's personal favourite, leaving a changing room whilst zipping his trousers back up, to be swiftly followed by a female member of staff who had looked rather flushed and flustered. She always laughed at the memory of her Mother's face when she had been recounting that particular sighting.

But she was never able to trust her Mother when it came to things such as this. Because as a child, Emily had been lied to and therefore let down too many times to believe any of the words that passed her Mother's lips. She certainly wasn't going to start now.

Her gaze turned to the two framed photographs that were sat on top of her chest of drawers; one was of her sat on top of her brother's lap. She had paint on her face, in her hair and down her shirt, her brother had a blue hand print on his face. She had paused in the painting of a picture to flash a gappy smile to the camera, or rather the person holding the camera as she wasn't even looking at the lens as her brother laughed from behind her. The table she had been using to lean on was covered with paints and fresh paper, ready for her if she needed them.

The second was of her and Jim. He had been holding her hand as they had walked away form the camera. But they had turned their heads to look over their shoulders as if someone had just shouted their names. Emily's free hand had been raised in the air, it was likely she had been in the middle of telling some fantastical story to her companion as the photo was taken. She leant forwards to pick the photo up in order to study the features of Jim more carefully. His hair was dark, always had been, as were his eyes. Emily had always been a little afraid to look into those eyes for too long for fear of getting hurt by them. There was just something about them that had held a hint of darkness that had nothing to do with their shade. She had noticed that it was always when he was angry, that hint would turn into a spark, that would eventually take over everything about him. She always left the room if she ever felt he was getting angry. And the smile that had been frozen on the paper before her, was genuine, as if he truly enjoyed her company.

The way he dressed had always been different from the other boys his age too. Whereas the other boys were dressed in clothes that were likely to be muddy by the end of the day, Jim had worn smarter looking clothes, priding himself in his appearance, always flicking away any hints of dust.

She placed the photo back as she finished her food. She often wondered what Jim would be like these days. When her brother had left, she had only seen Jim once after that, and that time had been from a distance. He had been on the phone talking to someone, and Emily had been about to approach him when his voice had raised, causing a few nervous glances from passers by to turn his way. Emily had just turned straight back round and headed in the opposite direction, hoping she hadn't been spotted.

In the following years, she had often regretted her decision to walk away. Perhaps they still would have been friends to this day if she hadn't. But you couldn't turn back time. Perhaps this was how it was supposed to be.

She slipped into her pyjamas, her empty plate on the floor next to her bed, and slid under the covers. She had wanted to read, but her eyes had other plans. It wasn't long before Emily Cooper was asleep.

* * *

**I have never been drunk before, and it's been a while since I was around people who do, so you'll have to forgive me if my attempt at the drunken voice message was terrible. **

**I don't own, only Emily.**

**Apologies for spelling/ punctuation mistakes I've probably made and failed to notice.**

**Please let me know what you think?**

**BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK**

**FB**


	6. 221B

**You have to keep in mind that Emily is shy around strangers. So I really hope this chapter is ok.**

**Let me know your thoughts?**

**Was anyone at SDCC last night? If you were, I am SO jealous of you.**

**I don't own, only Emily. Sorry for any spelling/punctuation mistakes I may have made and failed to correct.**

**One last thing before I start the chapter: HAPPY BIRTHDAY BENEDICT! **

* * *

At five o' clock, John Watson was waiting patiently outside St Bart's hospital, he'd been there since ten to. But at ten minutes past, he had begun to worry. Perhaps she had forgotten their meeting and had already headed home. Perhaps she had even changed her mind. Perhaps something had happened to her.

His eyes scanned the few amount of people that were walking by as he took his phone from his pocket in order to text her. But he needn't have bothered.

"Sorry I'm late John." A somewhat breathless voice sounded from his left. He turned to face it's owner and found Emily, smiling whilst trying to catch her breath.

"Hello, you look..." He started but did not know how to finish his sentence., if she hadn't have spoken to him first, he would not have recognised her. Today, she was wearing a pair of bootleg jeans, a black t shirt that he could only just make out from underneath her coat and a pair of converse. Her hair was tied in a ponytail so her face was in full view. It was certainly a change from how she had looked the day before.

"The word you're looking for is 'different' John." She continued to grin at him as he put his phone away.

"Yes. Different." He muttered. But he could think of many more words to describe how she was looking, none of them were negative. "I thought you were working today?"

"I was. But I didn't fancy going out afterwards in work clothes. Bought some spare ones in with me. Can we stop for a drink before we head over to Baker Street? I'd kill for some decent coffee."

"You took the words right out of my mouth." He said as he offered her his arm again before they both headed off in the direction of the coffee shop they had visited the day before.

It wasn't long before they were asking each other questions, and getting to know each other. He told her about his Army days that he didn't go into much detail about, but gave her the basics when she asked. He told her about his sister that Mr Holmes had believed to be his brother yesterday, where he was currently living now and the fact that he couldn't find a job. He even told her about searching the curious Sherlock Holmes on the internet the previous night and what he had discovered.

In turn she told him about her half brother, her Mother, offered him her boring job and even complained to him for a good half an hour about her boss; the reason for her lateness. He listened attentively as she spoke, he was glad of the company.

They were now walking down Baker Street together, searching for the right address. Emily calmly keeping pace with him as she had done all evening.

"221B" She mumbled as they came closer to a big black door located next to a café, just as a taxi pulled up "This is it." She stepped forward to bang the knocker on the door.

"Hello." They both turned to find the tall man paying the taxi.

"Ah, Mr Holmes." John greeted him.

"Sherlock please." He made his way towards them offering John his hand before doing the same to Emily. He was glad to find that she had a firm handshake.

"Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive." John stated.

"But convenient." Emily added on looking down the street. There was a tube station not far from where they were; a quick and easy way to get to work.

"Indeed." Sherlock told her with an analysing look before turning back to John. "Mrs Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favour. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out."

"Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?"

"Oh no. I ensured it." He smiled at Emily, enjoying the shocked look on her face as she contemplated how someone could be sentenced to death these days. The door opened to reveal a little old lady who opened her arms to the younger man.

"Sherlock." He walked into her arms and hugged her briefly before stepping back to introduce the pair behind him.

"Mrs Hudson, Miss Emily Cooper and Doctor John Watson." Emily held her hand out to the woman but got a shock when she was instead pulled into a welcoming embrace, almost tripping up the steps.

"Hello my dear." She let the younger woman go and turned to the older man. "Hello" she greeted him.

"How do?" He responded.

"Come in." She gestured for them to step inside. John indicated for Emily to go first. The door shut firmly behind them as they made their way upstairs following Sherlock; John at his usual hobbling pace, Emily a little a head of him.

She smiled at her spot from beside Sherlock at John as they waited just outside the door for him to catch up. She couldn't help it. She was rather excited to be here, even if she knew next to nothing about the tall man standing next to her. She caught his eye and smiled a little shyly at him, he sent one back, but she didn't for a second believe it was real.

It was only when John had reached the landing that Sherlock stopped examining the girl beside him, and opened the door behind him, heading into the room.

Emily stopped a few paces in, leaving John with enough space to enter behind her. The room had a certain homey feel about it that might have had something to do with the comfortable looking arm chairs and rather inviting settee. Perhaps it was the welcoming fireplace, or the already almost filled bookcases, or the desk that was cluttered with boxes. Whatever it was, she already liked it.

"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed." John stated as he to, took in his surroundings. "What do you think Em?" He asked the immobile girl who was stood in the middle of the room, looking around in awe.

"I think it's great." She beamed, looking out of the large windows from her vantage point, completely missing the twitch of the lips that belonged to the younger man.

"Yes." The two men looked around the flat happily as Emily walked towards the kitchen. "Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely." Sherlock started unbuttoning his coat. "So I went straight ahead and moved in."

"Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out..."

"Get the boxes cleared away..." The three of them spoke simultaneously.

"So this is all..." John started to ask.

"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit." He talked over John as he headed towards the desk and started to throw a few things into a box. Emily and John watched as he took some unopened envelopes, placed them on the mantelpiece and stabbed them with a knife.

"I suppose it's better than doing that to the people who wrote them." Emily mumbled to herself just as she caught sight of a skull.

"Is this a real skull?" She asked standing right in front of it now, peering into it's eye sockets.

"Friend of mine. When I say 'friend'..." Sherlock told her before walking off to the other side of the room. Emily couldn't help but wonder who's it had been, if it was even real; his answer had been anything but an answer. She also had to wonder where you could get a skull that looked so life like without actually going grave robbing.

"What do you think then, Miss Cooper? Doctor Watson?" Mrs Hudson asked as she entered the room picking up a cup and saucer from the table in front of the settee. "There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be _needing_ another one?"

Emily laughed but quickly covered it with a cough, turning toward the books that were in a state of almost neatness on the shelves.

"Of course I'll be needing another one." He sounded a little curious.

"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here." Mrs Hudson's voice lowered to a whisper as she continued. "Mrs Turner next door's got married ones." Emily hid her smile behind her hand, while her other hand danced over the tops of the books. She pulled a few out to see what their titles were when she came across one that was the wrong way round, but gently pushed them back in instead of turning it round. She didn't live here after all.

"Oh, Sherlock. The mess you've made." She looked round to find Mrs Hudson standing in the doorway to the kitchen, indicating the table that was covered in pretty much the same equipment that had been in the lab yesterday.

John plumped up a cushion that was sitting on the red armchair in front of the fireplace before dropping heavily down into it. He sat and watched Sherlock tidy up a little.

"I looked you up on the internet last night." He broke the silence as Sherlock turned his laptop on.

"Anything interesting?" He turned to the other man. Emily looked over her shoulder to watch the conversation unfold.

"Found your website. The science of Deduction." She had of course already heard all of this earlier, but she still listened anyway.

"What did you think?" He smiled proudly. But it quickly vanished when John sent him a "_you have got to be kidding me_" look. He flicked his gaze over at the blonde girl. "What did _you_ think?"

"Didn't see it." She replied honestly, causing his frown to become more visible.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb." John said before the taller man could say anything more to her.

"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone." He looked at the blonde again. "And I could tell your job just by looking at your clothes, and tell you've had enough of living with your Mother by _your _mobile phone and your stance." His lips twitched again as if he had been going to smile as she blushed.

"How?" John asked. This time, instead of responding, Sherlock turned away, causing John and Emily to share a confused look just as Mrs Hudson re-entered the living room, newspaper in hand.

"What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same." Emily frowned. She still didn't know what he did for a living.

"Four." He informed the old lady as he moved closer to the window. "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time." He spun round to face the doorway as the sound of footsteps became louder from the stairway.

"A fourth?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"Where?" He asked the man who had just walked through the doorway. Emily sat on the arm of John's chair.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." The newcomer replied.

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different." He spoke so fast, Emily had a hard time keeping up with him.

"You know how they never leave notes?" Emily vaguely remembered the article about the suicide on yesterdays paper. "This one did. Will you come?" Sherlock paused a moment as if in thought.

"Who's on forensics?"

"It's Anderson." His reply caused Sherlock to grimace.

"Anderson won't work with me." He murmured to the older man.

"Well, he won't be your assistant."

"I _need_ an assistant."

"Will you come?" The older man repeated the question, sounding urgent.

"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind."

"Thank you." By the way he bowed slightly, Emily could tell that a weight had already been lifted from the mans shoulders, even if he was still no closer to solving the mystery. He turned look at the other three briefly before he set off down the stairs again, nodding to them as he went.

As the front door shut behind him, Sherlock broke out into a smile, jumping into the air as he shouted. "Brilliant!" He really did look like an excited child. "Yes! Ah, four serial suicides and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" Emily took another look around the room. It really was a cosy room, and she was more than willing to move here without having to even glance at a bedroom. But she knew there had to be a catch somewhere. It was too good to be true. The place was perfect. But it meant she would be living under the same roof as someone who got excited about apparent suicides. She watched as he picked up his scarf and coat.

"Mrs Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food." He added as he started to put his coat on.

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." She informed him.

"Something cold will do. John, Emily have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!"

"Look at him, dashing about! _My_ husband was just the same." Emily smirked at the implication in her words."But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell. But you dear, you're more of a standing type aren't you?" She said looking at Emily. "I'll make you that cuppa. You rest your leg."

"I'll give you a hand." Emily said at the same time John shouted.

"_Damn_ my leg!" Making both females jump. They looked at him in shock. "Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing ..." He told them as he banged the crutch against his leg.

"I understand, dear; I've got a hip. Emily dear don't worry. But it's just this once I'm not your housekeeper." She informed them as she began to walk away.

"Couple of biscuits too, if you've got 'em." John picked up and opened the paper as Emily got up from the arm of his chair and moved over to the other side of the fireplace to inspect the books.

"Not your housekeeper!" The older lady said as she leaned back into the kitchen to talk to him. There was a moment of silence as John spotted a picture of the man who had asked for Sherlock's help a moment ago and started to read the article. But he didn't get very far as the silence was broken.

"You're a doctor." Emily jumped, not expecting to hear the voice that was coming form the doorway. She turned to find Sherlock standing there watching them as he put his gloves on. "In fact you're an Army doctor."

"Yes." John replied standing up with the aid of his crutch as Sherlock entered the room again.

"Any good?"

"_Very_ good." Emily had to smile at his arrogance.

"Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths." Sherlock was beginning to make his way over to John.

"Mmm, yes." John replied wondering where the conversation was heading.

"Bit of trouble too, I bet."

"Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much." John's voice was quiet, Emily was having difficulty listening.

"Wanna see some more?"

"Oh _God, _yes." John didn't even have to think about it.

"What about you?" Sherlock asked turning his gaze on Emily. John too, turned to face her.

"What do you mean?" If this man had confused her before, it was nothing to how she felt now. Was he really asking her if she would rather stay here, or go with them to see a dead body? When she had no medical experience? It wasn't like she hadn't seen one before, but it wasn't like she saw them as often as John had during his Army days, and judging by the way he had got excited over the idea of a mystery, Sherlock had.

"I mean, would you rather stay here and kill off some brain cells in front of the television, or would you rather come with us?" He asked her now. She didn't look away from his eyes as she thought about it for five seconds.

"Where's the remote?" She asked now looking around the room. But someone had grabbed her wrist.

"You're coming." There really was no room for an argument as she was already being dragged down the stairs by the tall man. She snatched her wrist back as soon as they reached the hallway. She would have ran back up the stairs if it hadn't ben for the fact that she could hear John getting closer to them as he shouted to Mrs Hudson.

"Sorry, Mrs Hudson, we'll skip the tea. Off out."

"All three of you?" The landlady asked standing at the bottom of the stairs. Emily would have slammed into Sherlock as he turned back round if he hadn't grabbed her forearms and gently moved her to the side so he could walk back over to Mrs Hudson.

"Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something _fun_ going on!" Emily couldn't help the soft smile that appeared on her face as Sherlock took the older woman by her shoulders and planted a noisy kiss on her cheek.

"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." But the older lady couldn't help but smile either as Sherlock walked towards the front door again, grabbing Emily's wrist again on his way as if he didn't trust her to follow.

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!" He pulled Emily along behind him as he went, and didn't let go until the door had shut behind the three of them.

"Taxi!" He shouted to the first approaching cab he could find. It stopped straight away and he let himself into it without hesitation.

Emily turned to John as soon as the dark haired man had sat down. "I don't understand why I have to go."

"Just get in the cab Em." He told her gently. She complied, but only because she didn't want to keep the taxi driver waiting.

Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket as Emily sat down next to him. She shot him an irritated glare that he ignored as John got in beside her. Without a moment to lose, Sherlock, without looking up from the screen of his phone, informed the driver where they were headed.

* * *

**Believe In Sherlock**

**FB**


	7. Questions and Answers

**I apologise for the wait and any spelling/ punctuation mistakes I have probably made and failed to correct.**

**I REALLY hope I made Sherlock's deductions about Emily alright. **

**I have been so worried about them. **

**Also... FILMING HAS BEGUN FOR EPISODE 3! OHGODIMSOEXCITED!**

**This Fandom will be the death of me...**

* * *

"Okay, you've got questions." Sherlock broke the silence, with his smooth voice. Outside of the cramped space in the back of the taxi, the sun had set, the sky was slowly becoming darker and Emily was silently thanking anyone who was listening that she didn't have to get up early for work in the morning. As well as ignoring the man to her left.

Until that point, no one, not even their driver had uttered a word. Sherlock had been busy on his phone and John had been preparing to bombard the taller man with questions.

"Yeah, where are we going?" John quickly responded as if it had been on the tip of his tongue the whole time, before Emily could ask why she was with them and not back at Baker Street.

"Crime scene. Next?" Sherlock responded as if it should have been obvious.

"Who are you? What do you do?"

"What do you think?" Emily kept her mouth shut, her gaze still on the road ahead.

"I'd say private detective..." John answered slowly, as if he was hesitant to speak.

"But?" Sherlock prompted when John didn't finish his sentence.

"...But the police don't go to private detectives." Sherlock smiled to himself before he spoke again.

"I'm a _consulting _detective." Now Emily looked round to pay attention. "Only one in the world. I invented the job."

"What the _hell_ does that mean?" She asked now, joining in their conversation.

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me." He informed her, glad that she was finally taking an interest.

"The police don't consult amateurs." John stated, he couldn't help the slight laugh that escaped him.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised." Sherlock responded shifting his gaze from Emily to John.

"Yes, how _did_ you know?" John asked.

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room ...said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq."

"You said I had a therapist."

"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of _course_ you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother."

"Hmm?" Sherlock held his hand out across Emily waiting for John to give him his phone.

"Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then." He paused for a fraction of a second as he turned the phone over in his hand. "Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already." He held the phone so the two people beside him could clearly make out the words.

"The engraving."

"Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. _Could_ be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left _him_, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left _her_. He gave the phone to _you_: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you _don't_ like his drinking." By now Emily was slightly in awe of the man next to her.

"How can you _possibly_ know about the drinking?"

"Shot in the dark. Good one, though." He pointed his finger towards the part of the phone he was about to talk about to show Emily. "Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them." Emily looked up at the younger man next to her. She could not believe he had learnt so much about one person in such a small amount of time. But, again, he hadn't finished. When she caught his eye, he started again.

"And you. I know you've had enough of living with your Mother from _your_ phone. When you offered it to me yesterday, she called. When you saw who it was your shoulders slumped as if you were irritated with whoever was on the other end. There was indecision on your face, that was you having an internal battle with yourself as to wether you should answer. But you didn't, you just turned it to silent and put it away. How do I know you live with her? Your clothes, they aren't exactly knew, at least two years old. You've been saving to move out. Your an only child, or you would have turned to a sibling.

I know you're close with Mike, you see him as a Father figure. When he introduced you to me yesterday, you smiled at him, but it vanished as soon as you saw the disappointed look on his face. So how do you know Mike? You're not a student, you don't carry books around with you, in fact you don't even carry a bag at all, you have few possessions that you want to keep on your person at all times, you don't need a bag, that's what pockets are for.

So not a student, but you know Mike. Know him well enough to spend your lunch hour with him anyway. You're not a Nurse, you would have had the uniform on if you were, but what kind of person dresses like that for work; Blouse, pencil skirt and heels? A receptionist? No offence, but a receptionist would have taken more pride in her hair, and make up. But you don't wear any make up, you probably don't really see the point." He never took his eyes from Emily's as he spoke, only to look her up and down a few times.

"You had an old ink stain on your blouse that still hasn't come out. I noticed it when your coat came undone. You didn't even notice, so you were comfortable with your surroundings, even if it was your first time in the lab. But why would you have an ink stain on your shirt? Too much to be from a pen, perhaps it's from when a printer ran out and you had to change it yourself. Receptionists are far too busy to change the ink themselves. So a Filing Clerk. A bored Filing Clerk." He picked up her hand from her lap with his gloved one. "You've coloured your fingernails in with highlighter." Her hand fell limply back onto her lap when he let go of it as he passed John's phone back to it's owner. "There you go, you see-you were right."

"_I _was right? Right about what?" He spoke for himself and Emily, judging by the shocked look on her face.

"The police don't consult amateurs." Sherlock turned his face to the window, he knew the reaction he would receive, he was almost prepared to mouth it along with them. There was a moment of silence as Emily attempted to straighten out her thoughts.

"That... was amazing." John said as he pushed Emily's chin up with his finger to close her mouth; he didn't want her to catch flies after all. Sherlock turned back to look at the pair he was sharing the taxi with. A blank look covered his face, but it was gone in a matter of seconds.

"Do you think so?" _Amazing _had definitely not been the reaction he had been expecting.

"Of _course _it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary. Of course, I can only speak for myself." The two men simultaneously shifted their gaze to the woman sat uncomfortably between them. She was still facing the front and her mouth had fallen into the shape of an 'O' once more.

"Holy shit." She finally managed to mumble. She managed a breathy laugh as she finally turned back to the consulting detective beside her.

"That's not what people normally say. "

"What do people normally say?" John asked.

"'Piss off''!" He smiled briefly at the pair beside him before looking back out of the window.

Emily couldn't contain the laughter that escaped her lips. Neither could she help the smile she shared with John. But she had to wonder, how on Earth could people tell the man beside her to 'Piss Off'? She could understand that they might find it annoying and invasive. She could even understand that they might think of him as a show off. But she thought it was incredible how this man had observed so much from just one glance. If everyone could be that smart, maybe the world would be a better place. But then again, maybe not.

She did not notice Sherlock watching her reflection in the window as they continued their journey.

* * *

**Believe In Sherlock**

**FB**


	8. PINK!

**I must apologise for the lateness. **

**Also for any spelling/ punctuation mistakes I have probably made and failed to correct.**

**I don't own, only Emily.**

**I know it's been about a week and a half since it aired but: OHMYGOD THE SERIES THREE TEASER TRAILER!**

**I lost sleep over it...**

**Anyway, leave me some nice things because I have the dentist this afternoon and I'm really not looking forward to it...**

* * *

Sherlock turned back to the cab after he had set foot on the pavement, offering his hand out to Emily to help her out.

"Thank you." She mumbled and shot him a quick smile before taking in her surroundings. It was not a street that she would feel particularly safe walking down alone during the night time. Or the day time for that matter. But at that moment in time, she felt safe; she wasn't alone. She was with John and Sherlock.

As the three headed towards the police tape, Sherlock asked the question that he had been burning to ask since he had made his deductions about the pair. "Did I get anything wrong?"

John answered straight away. "Harry and me don't get on, never have, Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; Harry is a drinker."

"Emily?" He asked to get the blonde's attention. But she didn't turn to look back at him.

"Mike is a Father figure to me, has been since I started working at Bart's, I _am_ a bored Filing Clerk, and I've never got on with my Mother."

"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything." Emily noticed that he looked rather impressed with himself. She shared a quick look with John before he opened his mouth again.

"Harry's short for Harriet."

"And I have a half brother." Sherlock had stopped walking, it wasn't until they were a few paces in front of him that they stopped and turned around to watch the smile disappear from his face.

"Harry's your sister."

"Look, what exactly are we supposed to be doing here?" John asked for himself and Emily. Now that he thought about it, Emily really did have no need to be there with them.

"Half Brother!" Sherlock hissed through gritted teeth. Emily could no longer contain the gloating smile that had taken over her face.

"No, seriously, what are we doing here?" John tried again.

"There's always something." Sherlock stated as he started walking again, ignoring the question. Again.

"Hello, freak." Emily looked up from the pavement to the woman standing by the police cars.

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." Sherlock informed her.

"Why?"

"I was invited."

_"Why?"_ The woman tried again sounding frustrated. Emily had to wonder what this woman's problem was. Ok, so Sherlock wasn't part of the Police. But he had been invited, sort of. He wasn't wrong there.

"I think he wants me to take a look." Sherlock told her sarcastically.

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?"

"Always, Sally." He ducked under the tape and took a sharp inhale of the sir through his nose. "You know you didn't make it home last night." Sally paused for a moment, and Emily thought from where she was standing, she could detect a hint of fear in the woman's eyes. Instead of supplying the taller man with any sort of remark, she decided to change the subject altogether and turned to the two who were still waiting on the other side of the tape.

"Er, who are these two?"

"Colleagues of mine, Doctor Watson and Miss Cooper." He turned back to look at the pair of them."Miss Cooper, Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend." The last part of his sentence was filled with sarcasm.

"Colleagues? How do _you_ get colleagues?! And a female one at that?!" She turned to look back at the other two. "Did he follow you home?"

"Maybe we should wait here?" Emily spoke up feeling extremely out of place as the 'Sally' woman kept flicking her gaze between her and Sherlock.

"No." Sherlock stated firmly as he lifted the tape. It really didn't seem like either of them had a choice. But Emily still fought. She crossed her arms and stood her ground as John ducked beneath the tape.

"We don't have all night Emily." Sherlock informed her when he realised she hadn't followed John under the tape.

"I'm not moving until you tell me exactly why I'm here." Her voice was filled with stubbornness, which irritated him even more. Instead of answering though, he simply stared into her eyes as his gaze took on an intense look. It was one that made Emily uncomfortable as she had never received that type of look before. Sally continued to look between the two, wondering just what they were to each other as John sighed heavily. He was certain of one thing, living with these two would certainly be interesting. That was of course, if he even took the flat.

Finally Sherlock had had enough and simply grabbed one of her wrists with his free hand and dragged her, for the third time that night, underneath the tape.

"Freaks here. Bringing him in." Sally spoke into her radio before walking towards a house. Sherlock dropped Emily's wrist as he began to take in the area and ground around him. John smirked to himself as Emily sighed and crossed her arms, she really did not want to be here.

"Ahh, Anderson. Here we are again." Sherlock spoke to the man that had made his way towards them and had taken an 'I'm important' stance in front of the trio.

"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" His whole demeanour reeked of distaste. Emily took an immediate dislike to him. She quickly caught Anderson's attention and it didn't take him long to look her up and down a few times.

"Quite clear." Sherlock stated, taking the attention away from Emily, something she was grateful for. He inhaled another deep breath as John and Emily simply stood to the side feeling like third wheels to whatever was taking place in front of them. "And is your wife away for long?"

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that."

"Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant?" Anderson asked sounding genuinely confused.

_"_It's for men." Emily smirked at the quirky expression that Sherlock used as he spoke.

"Well, of _course_ it's for men! _I'm_ wearing it!"

"So's Sergeant Donovan." Emily's eyes widened at what Sherlock was insinuating. But by the way Anderson quickly turned to look at Donovan, a look of shock covering his face, she could tell he was telling the truth.  
"Ooh, and I think it just vaporised. May I go in?" He sounded so casual, as if he did this thing every day.

"Now look: whatever you're trying to imply ..."

"I'm not implying _anything. _I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over." By now the Consulting Detective had made his way past the 'couple' towards the house. But he paused and turned back to face them for a moment. "And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."

Emily's eyes were practically bugging out of their sockets as Sherlock gave them a smug smile and continued on into the house. She watched as John made a point of looking down at Donovan's knees as he walked past her and followed Sherlock.

As Emily stopped in front of her, she too paused, and lowered her voice to a whisper. "I think you can do better." With that she continued on into the house to find her two companions.

It took her a moment to find her way through the maze of hallways, but she eventually came across the right room. She walked into the middle of a conversation.

"Who's this?" The man that had appeared at Baker Street asked as soon as he saw John. He then turned to the doorway that Emily was now leaning against. "And who's she?"

"They're with me."

"But who _are they_?"

"I _said_ they're with me. Emily you'll need to put one of these on too." He picked up another spare blue coverall and passed it to her when she had moved close enough.

"Aren't you gonna put one on?" John asked as he started to put his blue outfit on and Emily shrugged out of her coat. His question was met with more silence that was only broken when the grey haired man zipped his coverall up.

"So where are we?" Sherlock asked

"Upstairs." He patiently waited for the pretty blonde woman beside him to zip her coverall up before he lead the way to the staircase. He didn't quite understand what exactly she was doing here. The same went for the limping man she lagged behind with. But he figured, if they were with Sherlock Holmes, they must be important or at least useful.

As the four of them made their way up the stairs, Emily scanned the building she was in. It had probably once been a beautiful house to live in. But judging by the size of it, it had to take some money to look after. Who ever used to live here, more than likely grew tired of continual TLC, or perhaps they couldn't managed it anymore. Either way, it was a shame. And now, after being a crime scene involved in suicides, or serial killings, or whatever these deaths were being counted as, it would never have that same amount of care put into it again. Who, after all, would want to live in a house where someone had possibly been murdered.

"...Some kids found her." She only caught the end of what the man was saying as she came out of her thoughts. Emily grimaced. Those kids would end up remembering that moment for the rest of their lives.

The four entered the rather depressing room that was devoid of any furniture except from a rather ominous looking rocking horse in the far corner.

"Oh God." Emily muttered as she laid eyes on the woman on the floor.

"Are you alright?" John asked her after a look of sadness crossed his face at the sight that had greeted him. "Do you want to wait outside?"

"I'm fine. It's just the dreadful colour." She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. John and the grey haired man were sending her looks of disbelief. "What?" She asked them curiously. "I _have _seen a dead body before you know." She told them a little angrily. Did they expect that because she was a woman she would scream at the sight of a corpse. No. That wasn't in her nature.

Due to Sherlock standing with his back towards them, all three of them missed the smirk her words had caused.

Emily was trying very hard not to take any deep breaths. It wasn't due to the woman on the floor; she hadn't started to decompose yet.

It was just that, as soon as she had entered the room and her sight had landed on the body, she could smell chlorine.

In her mind's eye, she was no longer standing in a room in London next to John Watson. She was four years old again, sitting on her brother's hip as she watched a scene unfold from a balcony, and a boy splashed around in the water.

It happened every time she saw a dead body. It didn't matter if it was human or animal, she always smelt chlorine.

"Shut up." She was once again bought from her thoughts by a voice. But this time it was Sherlock who had spoken. His deep tone gained everyone's attention. She was a little startled. She had heard no one speak.

"I didn't say anything." Lestrade spoke gently.

"You were thinking. It's annoying." His eyes quickly flicked to look at Emily. She was the only one who caught it, and it made her wonder if he had actually been talking to the police officer, or her.

She watched as Sherlock slowly lessened the space between himself and the woman on the floor. She moved to the left side of the door so she wasn't in anyone's way. She could feel a gaze on her and looked to see the grey haired man looking at her curiously. She sent him a polite smile that he returned before they both focused their attention back to Sherlock who was busy standing over the body. But it wasn't long before he was knelt next to her and inspecting different areas of her attire.

"Got anything?" The grey haired man spoke up after a while.

"Not much." Sherlock replied as he stripped his hands of his latex gloves and stood.

"She's German. 'Rache': it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something …" Anderson was leaning casually against the doorway, he didn't notice Sherlock moving towards him, phone in hand, he was too busy looking at Emily to care.

"Yes, thank you for your input." Sherlock told the man sarcastically as he promptly shut the door in his face. Emily had to quickly snatch her hand away from the doorframe, wary of catching her fingers.

"So she's German?" Lestrade asked.

"Of course she's not. She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night... before returning home to Cardiff." He replied never looking away from his phone. "So far, so obvious." He finished and finally pocketed the device.

"Sorry – obvious?"

"What about the message, though?"

Sherlock ignored him. "Doctor Watson, what do you think?"

"Of the message?"

"Of the body. You're a medical man." Emily was beginning to feel like part of the non existent furniture.

"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside."

"They won't work with me." Sherlock sounded somewhat bored.

"I'm breaking every rule letting _you_ in here."

"Yes ... because you need me."

"Yes, I do. God help me." He sounded helpless as his eyes lowered to the floor.

"Doctor Watson."

"Hm?" John turned his head to look at Lestrade, silently asking permission.

"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself." Emily couldn't help but notice he spoke this a little tetchily.

He moved towards her and opened the door to go outside, sending her a quick wink that made her smile.  
"Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes." She heard him say.

"Emily." She looked up from the floor boards in front of her to see John and Sherlock on either side of the body. Sherlock had been he one to call her name.

"What?" She asked innocently. He flicked his gaze to the floor beside him then back up at her, indicating she should move to the spot beside him. She considered her options. She could just keep standing in the corner and sulk, but that would probably lead to Sherlock getting up and dragging her over to the body. Or she could just get it over with and move.

She took the easier option and walked towards them, hoping she didn't look too much like a pathetic puppy who obeyed every order.

"Well?" Sherlock asked quietly as Emily knelt next to him, tucking her hands between her legs. But before John could answer, Emily did instead.

"What am I doing here? I can see why you're here, I can see why John is here. But I can't for the life of me understand what the hell I'm doing here!" She whispered harshly.

"Helping me make a point." Sherlock answered her softly.

"But I have no medical experience, and I'm not a Consulting Detective."

"We're supposed to be helping you pay the rent." John added.

"Yeah, well, this is more fun."

"Fun? There's a woman lying dead."

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I _was_ hoping you'd go deeper." As John inspected the woman for himself, Emily felt completely useless.

"Yeah ... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs." John informed him from his now kneeling position.

"You know what it was. You've read the papers."

"What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth ...?"

"Sherlock – two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got." Lestrade interrupted him.

Sherlock stood as he began to talk and offered his hand out to Emily again to help her stand. "Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming and as Miss Cooper put it, dreadful shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase." Emily looked around the room for any sign of a suitcase but found none. She hadn't seen one in the downstairs rooms either.

"Suitcase?" Lestrade asked as John also started too look around.  
"Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married."

"Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up ..." Lestrade sounded as if he could not quite believe everything the consulting detective was saying.

"Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who _does_ she remove her rings for? Clearly not _one_ lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."

"That's brilliant." All eyes turned to John at his words of praise. "Sorry." He added on.

"Cardiff?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?"

"It's not obvious to me." John said as Emily just continued to look at Sherlock. There was no way he would _not _explain these things to them.

"Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring." Sherlock took a few seconds to look at each one of them in turn before looking back at the body. The man clearly had a thing for insulting people. _  
_"Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, _strong_ wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?" He retrieved his phone from his pocket once more. "Cardiff." Emily moved over to stand beside John.

"That's fantastic!" John stated as Emily simply smiled as she shook her head in disbelief.

"D'you know you do that out loud?" Sherlock asked him in a low voice so only John and Emily could hear.

"Sorry. I'll shut up."

"No, it's ... fine."

"Why d'you keep saying suitcase?"

"Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is." He spun around as he spoke as he searched for the item.

"She was writing 'Rachel'?" Lestrade sounded as if he had only just caught on.

"No, she was leaving an angry note in German!" There was his sarcastic tone again. "Of _course_ she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"How d'you know she had a suitcase?"

Sherlock pointed down to the woman's legs as he started talking. "Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night. Now, where is it? What have you done with it?" He squatted down again to examine her leg more closely.

"There wasn't a case."

Sherlock slowly raised his head to look at the man. "Say that again." He instructed.

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase." At these words, the dark haired man straightened and moved to the door.  
"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?" He shouted to the police in the rest of the building as he headed down the stairs.  
"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade insisted as he followed the man out on to the landing. He was swiftly followed by John and Emily.

"They take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them."

"Right, yeah, thanks! _And_ ...?" Emily leant her arms against the railing, looking down to watch Sherlock as he gradually got further away.

"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – _serial_ killings. We've got ourselves a serial killer. I _love_ those. There's always something to look forward to." He really was like a child at Christmas.

"Why are you saying that?"

"Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?! Someone else was here, and they took her case."

"The killer has her case?" Emily spoke up now.

"Beauty _and _brains Miss Cooper." Emily looked over her shoulder to see who he was talking about. But no one was there. "Finally, someone else who understands. So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car." He sounded as if he was talking to himself now.

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there." John suggested.

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking ..." His sudden silence made Emily even more curious. "Oh." His face had lit up like a Christmas tree. "_Oh!" _He clasped his hands together in delight.

"Sherlock?" John asked.

Lestrade leaned further over the railing. "What is it, what?

"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake."

"We can't just wait!"

"Oh, we're _done_ waiting! Look at her, really _look_! Houston, we _have_ a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" He disappeared from view as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!"

Sherlock ran up a few steps to make sure he can be seen before he yelled: "PINK!" With that, he was gone again.

But it wasn't just Lestrade that was baffled. Emily was too. A moment ago he had been raving about a suitcase, now he couldn't stop thinking about the word pink. Perhaps he had meant a pink suitcase?

But she had other pressing matters on her mind.

"Who was he talking about when he said 'beauty and brains'?" She asked John as everyone else began to make their way into the room they had just evacuated.

John's shoulder's sagged a little and his eyes rolled. "You." He answered as if it should have been obvious.

"Are you sure?" Instead of supplying another answer, he began to make his way down the stairs, certain his blonde companion would follow.


	9. Psychopaths get Bored

**I would like to apologise for how late this is. I would have uploaded it last Wednesday, but I went on Twitter and found out that Setlock was happening at Gower Street. I actually became really sad that I wasn't there. I still am a bit sad, but I'll get over it.**

**I would also like to apologise for any spelling/punctuation mistakes I have probably made and failed to correct.**

**And also for how short this is.**

**I don't own. Only Emily.**

* * *

She had indeed followed and the pair were now walking towards the Police tape and the Donovan woman.

Emily wasn't very happy. Minutes ago, as they had been walking down the stairs, one particularly rude police officer had bumped into John, causing him to lurch against the bannisters. The ignorant asshole hadn't even turned round to see if John was alright, hadn't spoken a word. The only consolation was that his colleague sent him an apologetic look as he passed. Emily had helped her friend regain his balance, and opened her mouth to shout something to the two men who had passed. But John had placed a hand on her arm. Silently telling her it was ok.

The two were back in their coats, something Emily was grateful for. Those coveralls weren't exactly comfortable. John was busy looking around for any sign of Sherlock and Emily was taking deep breaths of fresh air, the chlorine smell had vanished as soon as they had left the room, but she still appreciated the cool air that had already begun to turn her nose cold.

"He's gone." Sally spoke up now when she saw the 'colleagues' approach.

"Who, Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yeah, he just took off. He does that."

"Do you know if he's coming back?" Emily asked from beside John.

"Didn't look like it." Emily's shoulders slumped. She had the sneaky suspicion that he would not return for them. But she still felt a twinge of disappointment all the same.

"Right." John replied as he continued to look around. He only stopped when he caught Emily's eye. "What's wrong?"

She felt foolish. But it was John, there was no reason for her too feel that way. "Where are we?" She muttered so only he could hear. Often, when she couldn't remember the name of the street she was on, or if it was a rather crowded street she was attempting to walk down, she began to feel a little disorientated. It wasn't that she had a bad memory, it was just that, the dead body they had left behind had taken over her thoughts. The questions of Who, Why and How had swam through her brain, causing her to forget everything else.

John could sense her discomfort, and also the fact that she didn't want this to be noticed by the woman now watching them carefully. He continued to look around in thought.

"Right... yes. Sorry." He turned back to look at Donovan. "Where are we?"

"Brixton."

"Right. Er, d'you know where we could get a cab? It's just, er...well...my leg."

"Er..." Donovan moved over towards the tape and lifted it before continuing. "... try the main road."

"Thanks." John said as he ducked under the tape, hoping Emily was still following. His hopes were confirmed when he heard her voice right behind him.

"Thank you."

"But the two of you aren't his friends." The two paused as they waited for her to continue. "He doesn't _have_ friends. So who _are_ you?" Her gaze was flicking between the two of them.

"I'm ... I'm nobody. I just met him." John answered. Emily swiftly turned her head to look at him. How could he think he was nobody? This man, who she admittedly had only known for not very long, was most definitely not a 'nobody'. But her thoughts were cut off by Donovan.

"And you?" Emily honestly did not know how to answer that question, and she didn't particularly fancy standing around talking to this woman for very long. So, she took a leaf out of John's book.

"Nobody." She replied quietly.

"Okay, bit of advice then: stay away from that guy."

"Why?" John challenged her.

"You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes'll be the one that put it there."

"Why would he do that?" John had taken the words right out of Emily's mouth.

"Because he's a psychopath. Psychopaths get bored."

"Donovan!" The man from the crime scene shouted from the pathway to the house.

"Coming." She shouted in reply and began to walk to the path. "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes." She had turned back to shout at the pair who were now watching her leave.

"What was her problem?" Emily broke the silence as John shook his head slightly.

"Who knows." John replied as he turned and began to limp down the road. Emily quickly caught up to him again just as the phone in the phone box to their right started ringing. They both stopped and looked at it for a moment. Emily believing it to just be coincidence. "Come on." John offered her his arm again, which she gladly took with a smile, and the two continued on their way. Neither of them noticing that the phone stopped ringing as soon as they had passed it.

* * *

"Taxi! Taxi..." John once again attempted to hail a passing cab. Once again, he was ignored. Emily heaved a sigh of annoyance. Surely it should not be this difficult to hail a taxi. After all, Sherlock had managed to do it, why couldn't they?

To their left, a fast food restaurant stood, and the two stopped to look in the window. But it was not the food that interested them. It was the fact that the payphone on the wall had started to ring, just as they were walking past. They continued to watch as a member of staff walked over and reached out for it, only for the phone to stop ringing when the man's hand's were mere inches away from it.

"This is getting strange now." John, who did not know what to say back, simply decided to carry on walking. "You're not a nobody you know." Emily spoke up from beside him, as she took his arm again.

"What are you talking about?" John sent her a befuddled look, and listened closely for her answer.

"Back at the crime scene. When that woman asked you who we are. You said 'I'm nobody.' Well, I don't think you're nobody." She shook her head focused on the ground in the hope that John wouldn't see her face turn a slight shade of pink that was not caused by the cold.

"Well, to her I'm a nobody. To Sherlock I'm a nobody, to-"

"But not to me." Emily interrupted him. She chanced a look up at him. She found that he wasn't looking at her, but she could tell he was smiling. Even if it was only a slight smile.

They were now passing another telephone box. Emily kept her eyes trained on it. A part of her just knew that it would ring. And she wasn't disappointed. John shot her a mystified glance.

"Wait there." He told her as he opened the door and answered the phone.

"Hello?" John answered as Emily began to people watch and leaned back against the side. Couples out on dates, arm in arm paid her no mind as they walked past her, a man in a smart suit cast a quick glance up and down her body, sending her a flirty smile that she ignored.

But one man caught her attention more than everyone else. Standing on the other side of the road, leaning against a wall, dark hair, an even smarter suit than the man who had just passed her, and a phone tightly pressed to his ear was a man that caused a spark of recognition to ignite inside her. But to truly put a name to the face, she would have had to moved closer. But she wasn't about to leave John when he had told her to wait.

The man caught her eyes and sent her a dark smile that chilled her to the bone. But before she could look him over again, a black car pulled up to the kerbside and a male driver got out to open the back door.

Emily looked at John who was only just putting the phone down. He looked thoughtful for a moment. Emily thought she could even detect a hit of worry when he flicked his eyes to look at her.

As John left the box, she looked back over to the other side of the road. Standing on her tip toes slightly to look over the top of the car. But the man was no longer there.

"Apparently this is our taxi for the evening." John murmured so only she could hear. She sent him a confused look but nodded anyway. As she moved forwards to step inside, she quickly looked around for the strange man. But she could not see him anywhere.

* * *

Emily was once again squished in the middle seat. Although not as squished as she had been back in the real taxi between Sherlock and John. This time, she was seated between John, of course, and a young woman who was seemingly mesmerised by her Blackberry, who also happened to be pretty much ignoring the pair of them. Emily would be lying to herself if she said she wasn't tempted to see what the woman was typing, but she didn't want to be rude.

"Hello." John broke the silence.

"Hi." The woman replied with a bright smile before she returned her gaze back to her phone.

"What's your name then?" Emily smirked to herself. She wasn't sure if John was trying to figure out their situation, or flirt with the pretty woman next to her.

"Er... Anthea." She replied causing John to smirk too.

"That's not your real name is it?" Emily spoke up now.

"No." 'Athea' smiled at her. John nodded. It was a moment before he spoke up again.

"I'm John"

"Yes. I know."

"Then you know my name too?" Emily asked feeling a little like a child who was being left out.

'Anthea' looked at her again and smiled.

"Oh yes Emily. I know yours too."

"Any point in asking where we're going?" 'Anthea' looked at John again.

"None at all..." She almost sounded as if she wanted to tell them. Almost. She returned to her phone. "...John."

"Okay."

Emily let out a bored sigh from between them and attempted to get comfy. This could be one long journey.

* * *

**Believe In Sherlock**

**FB**


	10. If Convenient

**So I considered having Emily say yes to the money, then not.**

** Then I found out that they had FINISHED FILMING SERIES THREE! WE ARE THAT MUCH CLOSER MY FELLOW SHERLOCKIANS! **

**XD  
I am so excited. Can you tell?**

**Also, yesterday I found a jumper that is very much like the one that John wears. I'm wearing it now, and it's SO comfy!**

**Anyway, I'm aware that this chapter isn't my best, so please forgive me for this?**

**You will also have to forgive me for any spelling/ punctuation mistakes I have probably made and failed to correct. **

**I don't own, only Emily.**

**Please leave me your thoughts?**

* * *

It had felt as if the majority of London had swept passed the windows of the car the three were sat in.

It felt to Emily, like a lifetime had passed when the car finally pulled into what seemed to be a warehouse that wasn't quite empty. But it only felt like that as she had been leaning closer to John, therefore causing her right bum cheek to fall asleep as it was the only position she had felt comfortable in.

As soon as the car had stopped she turned her body, ready to exit the vehicle as quickly as possible in the hope that the blood would start circulating to her backside once again.

John turned back and offered her his hand once he had stood up. But he didn't look at her as she took his offered hand and climbed out of the back seat. His attention was focused on the man some yards away. Dressed in a rather smart suit and nonchalantly leaning on an umbrella, he was already watching them as they started to head towards him., slowly because of John's walk.

"Have a seat John." He pointed with his umbrella towards the chair placed a few feet in front of him. But the two merely continued towards him as if he hadn't spoken.

"You know, We've got phones." John sounded rather calm. The total opposite of how Emily felt on the inside. This was rather a new situation to her. Being put in a car, driven to an almost empty warehouse, and spoken to by a man who acted towards the man beside her as if he had known him his whole life. Her shyness was starting to take over once again. Instead of looking directly at the man, she instead let her gaze wonder around the warehouse.

She didn't know much about these sort of places. It was actually the first time she had ever set foot in one.

"I mean, very clever and all that, but er... you could just phone me. Or her. On our phones."

The two had walked straight past the chair as if it hadn't existed, only coming to a halt when they were a few paces in front of the mysterious stranger.

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place." His words caught Emily's full attention now. Why on Earth was this man trying to avoid the attention of the Consulting Detective. The pleasant smile that had gone nicely with his voice, became stern with his next words, "The leg must be hurting you. Sit down."

"I don't wanna sit down."

"Emily?" She looked him in the eyes now for the first time. There was something about them that made her feel a little easier. As if she had seen them before somewhere. "You must be tired after a long day at work. Would you like to sit down?" How did this man know that was exactly how she felt? Even if she had been sat down for most of the day. She would be lying to herself if she thought the chair didn't look inviting. Even if it didn't look particularly comfortable.

"No thank you." She shook her head slightly as she answered. The man before them cast them a curious look as he continued.

"You don't seem very afraid." Emily noticed he was speaking more to John now than he was her.

"You don't seem very frightening." John told him. The arm that Emily had unconsciously latched onto, gave her hand a slight squeeze as if telling her that it would be alright. Now that Emily looked at him properly, he really didn't look very frightening. It was more the fact that they were standing out in an open space, they could have guns being pointed at them at that very second.

The man chuckling bought her out of those thoughts.

"Ah yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think Emily?" But he didn't bother looking at her. He just continued to look at John sternly.

"What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?" His gaze now flicked between the two of them.

"We don't have one. We barely know him. We met him..."

"Yesterday." Emily supplied for him. They were both a little surprised at how little time had passed since then.

"Mmm, and since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together." He looked at Emily at his next words. "Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"

Emily opened her mouth to protest but John beat her to it.

"Who _are _you?"

"An interested party."

"Interested in Sherlock? Why? I'm guessing you're not friends."

"You've met him. How many 'friends' do you imagine he had?" Emily had to agree with him there. "I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."

"And what's that?"

"An enemy."

"An enemy?" Emily and John spoke at the same time.

"In _his _mind certainly. If you were to ask him, he's probably say his _arch_-enemy. He does love to be dramatic."

_What the hell does someone do to get an arch-enemy? _Emily wondered to herself as John looked around the warehouse pointedly.

"Well, thank God _you're _above all that." He responded sarcastically.

Emily's phone went off, informing her she had received a text. The man who had moments before been looking at John with a frown, now focused on Emily as she dug her phone from the pocket of her coat.

_Baker Street._

_Come at once_

_if convenient._

_SH_

She showed it to John who read it and the two shared a confused look. How the hell did he get her number?

"I hope I'm not distracting you." The man spoke up.

"Not distracting us at all." John said as Emily locked her phone and replaced it in her pocket.

"Do the two of you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

"I could be wrong... but I think that's none of your business." Emily nodded along beside him.

"It _could _be." Those three words sounded ominous to Emily.

"It _really _couldn't." The mysterious man before them took out a notebook from the inner pocket of his blazer, consulting it as he spoke, letting his umbrella dangle from his forearm.

"If you _do _move into, um... two hundred and twenty-one _B _Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way." He had snapped the notebook shut and was hiding it from sight.

"Why?"

"Because you're not a wealthy man. And you, not a wealthy woman." He answered to both of them.

"Money, in exchange for what?" Emily asked, finding her nerve.

"Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel... uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."

"Why?"

"I worry about him. Constantly.

"Well, that's just lovely of you. But I'd really like to leave now." Emily informed him.

"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a... difficult relationship." He said, completely ignoring Emily's words.

It was now John's phone that alerted him of a text. Emily reluctantly let go of his arm in order for him to fish it out of his pocket.

After a moment of staring at the screen, he showed it to her.

_If inconvenient,_

_come anyway._

_SH_

Emily had to bite her cheek in order to keep the smile from spreading on her face.

"No." John stated without looking up from the screen of his mobile.

"But I haven't mentioned a figure."

"Don't bother." His phone had disappeared back into his pocket now.

The man's laughter bothered Emily. "You're very loyal, _very _quickly."

"No, I'm not I'm just not interested."

"What about you Emily?" The two men looked at her again. John from the corner of his eye.

She thought about it. But only for a moment.

"No." She answered. After all, she didn't know this man. Why should she tell him anything about Sherlock? He hadn't even told them his name.

He looked at the pair of them before reaching for his notebook again.

"'Trust issues' it says here. And a habit of getting shy in the company of new people." Emily gulped. That last part had been meant for her. She looked at John, who, she was a little startled to see look unnerved for the first time that evening.

"What's that?" John asked, his voice unusually quiet.

"Could it be that the pair of you have decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?"

"Who says I trust him?"

"And who says we shouldn't?" Emily asked gaining the man's attention. He smiled at her. It was a pleasant smile that make her feel a little more comfortable in her surroundings.

"I can see why he likes you." He told her instead of actually answering the question. Of all the things he could have said, she certainly was not expecting that. He turned back to his notebook.

"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily. Neither of you do."

"Are we done?" John asked having had enough. He looked up again to look John in the eye's.

"You tell me." His voice was smooth. Like Sherlock's.

The pair looked at him for a long moment. Emily more out of confusion than anything. John took a hold of her arm gently and turned her away from the man, walking back towards the car.

"I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen." Emily looked up at John again as he stopped, waiting for him to say something. It was obvious he was the one being spoken to. His shoulders tensed and with an angry shake of his head he turned back round.

"My what?" He was clearly getting frustrated, so Emily decided to hang back a little.

"Show me." He nodded towards John's hand as he spoke.

John lifted his hand, not moving forward. In order for the man to see it, he would have to go to him. He strolled forward, underterred. "Emily dear, would you mind holding this?" Cautiously, Emily stepped forward and took the offered umbrella from him and leaned on it the way he had when they had arrived.

"Don't" John snapped when the man went to reach for it. The man merely raised his eyebrows, and Emily couldn't help but smile a little.

She watched closely as the man took John's hand in both of his own and looked at it closely.  
"Remarkable."

"What is?" John asked straight away snatching his hand back.

The man turned to Emily and held his hand out for his umbrella. "Thank you my dear." He moved a few paces away. "Most people blunder round this city, and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield." He spun around to look at John. "You've already seen it, haven't you?"

"What's wrong with my hand?" John asked ignoring the mans question the way he had ignored Emily's earlier.

"You have an intermittent tremor in you left hand. Your therapist thinks it's post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service."

"Who the hell _are_ you?" John sounded distressed. Emily gently took hold of his arm once more. At the feeling of the warmth of his companions hand, he continued. "How do you know that?"

"Fire her. She's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady." The man paused as Emily could practically feel John shaking in anger. "You're not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson... you miss it." John only raised his eyes to look at him when he leaned forward slightly. "Welcome back." He whispered to him before looking at Emily. "And a very warm welcome to you Miss Cooper. I do believe you'll enjoy it." With that he turned and walked away, swinging his umbrella a little as he did so.

What could he possibly have meant by that? '_I do believe you'll enjoy it." _She shook her head away from that thought, If she let herself ponder about it, there was no way she was going to be able to sleep tonight.

Both John and Emily's phone went off with another text.

"Time to choose a side, Doctor Watson, Miss Cooper." They both watched as he departed as they heard a car door open behind them.

"I'm to take you home." 'Anthea' spoke up gaining the pair's attention. Her focus was still on her BlackBerry. At the sight of a phone. Emily, at the same time as John, reached for her phone.

_Could be dangerous._

_SH._

The two looked at each other. They didn't need to talk to know they had both received the same message. Emily watched as John held his hand out in front of him, studying it for a moment and showing the hint of a smile.

"Address?" 'Anthea' spoke up again.

"Er, Baker Street." He looked over at Emily to make sure she wanted to go there. She nodded with a smile. "Two two one B Baker Street. But I need to stop off somewhere first." Emily furrowed her brows at him in silent question, but he simply took hold of her arm and guided her towards the car.

* * *

Once again. Emily could no longer feel her bottom. But she had been temporarily relieved when John got out of the car, informing them that he wouldn't be long.

She watched the woman next to her from the corner of her eye as she continued to type away on her BlackBerry. Never before had she ever seen someone so focused on a phone.

"You know." She broke the silence, the woman beside her didn't look away from the screen, but Emily could tell that she had her attention. Or some of it at least. "You're too pretty too go around calling yourself 'Anthea'.

"Oh?" She replied.

"Yeah. I think you should introduce your self as Elizabeth. Or maybe Isabelle? It's pretty, like you." Emily insisted.

'Anthea' finally looked up from her phone to the woman next to her who was looking straight a head.

"I'll keep that in mind." Emily said nothing more. Only smiled. But it soon disappeared when the door opened again.

"Move up Emily." John told her, even though he had plenty of room. He was just doing it to annoy her and she knew it. But she didn't protest.

* * *

As the car slowed to a stop again, Emily could not remember a time when she had been more relieved to arrive at a destination. Once more, she could no longer feel her bottom.

"Listen, your boss- any chance you could not tell him this is where I went?" Emily rolled her eyes as 'Anthea' looked up and over at him.

She shared a small smile with the woman in the middle.

"Sure." She answered nonchalantly.

"You've already told him, haven't you?" Emily's smile only grew as 'Anthea' answered.

"Yeah."

At the sound of the door opening, Emily positioned herself to get out, only to find that John hadn't moved. She had a feeling she knew what was coming, and she couldn't help it, her shoulder sagged a little in irritation as John turned back to look at the other woman.

"Hey, um... do you ever get any free time?"

A chuckle escaped her lips. "Oh yeah. Lots." Emily shook her head a fraction as John waited expectantly.

'Anthea' looked at John, momentarily flicking her gaze to the building outside, then back at John. "Bye."

"Okay." The two girls shared one last smile before Emily climbed out of the car. She turned to look back in.

"Bye Isabelle." She said, and received a beaming smile in return. She shut the door as she stood back up.

"Isabelle?" John questioned from beside her.

"Yeah. Isabelle" She answered.

John shook his head as if to empty his mind of the questions that he was thinking of. Apparently he had missed something when he into his flat.

"So where was that place you went to before?" Emily questioned him, walking backwards to look at him as she made her way towards the front door.

"My flat." He answered as he moved towards her.

"Why did you need to go there?"

"I went to get something I have a feeling we may need later." He answered her mysteriously.

"Let me guess. You're not going to tell me what it is are you?"

He looked down at the woman next to him and smiled slightly. "No." She rolled her eyes just as the door opened.

"Oh, my dears, come in out of the cold." Mrs Hudson ushered them into the hallway.

"Thank you." Emily muttered.

"Sherlock's upstairs. Do either of you want a cup of tea?"

"I thought you weren't the housekeeper?" Emily asked before John could say yes.

"Finally, someone who listens." She smiled at how happy Mrs Hudson looked. "I'll leave you two to it then." She waved merrily to them as she made her way back towards her flat.

"I like her." Emily informed John when the landlady had closed the door behind her. "She reminds me of my Gran." John could hear the sadness in her voice now. But decided not to ask.

"After you Em." He told her, indicating the stairs and bringing her out of her thoughts. She smiled and began to ascend.

* * *

**Believe in Sherlock**

**FB**


	11. Three Patch Problem

**Please excuse any spelling/ punctuation mistakes I have probably made and failed to correct. **

**I don't own. Only Emily.**

**Please review?**

* * *

Emily glided her hand across the wallpaper, letting it trail behind her as she made her way up the stairs, listening to the tap of John's walking aid every other beat.

What she found waiting for them in the living room, was enough to make her pause, a confused look on her face as John entered the room behind her. There, lying on the settee, was Sherlock. But moments before she had entered, he had let out a noisy breath in possible relaxation. As she continued to watch him, he began to clench and unclench his left fist.

"What are you doing?" John asked. Judging by the bewildered look on Emily's face, she had no idea either.

"Nicotine patch." He responded, lifting his left arm slightly. "Helps me think."

"I believe the word you're looking for is patches." Emily mumbled to herself as she counted not one, but three patches on the mans arm. Surely that was unhealthy?

"Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work."

"It's good news for breathing." John stated, still standing in the doorway.

"Oh, breathing. Breathing's boring."

"Is that because it requires no thinking power?" Emily asked, only slightly curious as John now made his way towards Sherlock and the settee. Sherlock didn't provide her with an answer, but sent her a look that asked if that was actually a serious question.

"Is that three patches?" John inquired, causing the conversation between Emily and the Consulting Detective to stop before it even had a chance to begin.

"It's a three-patch problem." He answered, pressing his hands together as if in prayer underneath his chin. Finally taking his eyes away from Emily who had started to look around the room for the TV remote. John too, looked around the room.

"Well." He broke the silence. Only Emily looked up at him. The two shared a look of annoyance when Sherlock didn't respond. "You asked us to come. I'm assuming it's important." It took a couple of seconds, but Sherlock snapped his eyes open and didn't bother to look at either of them.

"Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?" Emily had gone back to searching. Lifting up the cushions on the chairs, she even knelt on the floor to look underneath the leather chair. But to no avail.

"Don't wanna use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognised. It's on the website." Emily was beginning to wonder if a remote even existed for this TV.

"Mrs Hudson's got a phone."

"Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn't hear." Emily rolled her eyes at the laziness she was hearing about. Perhaps the remote was hidden in amongst the books. It was a long shot, but if you didn't look, you would never know.

"We _were _on the other side of London." John started to get angry.

"There was no hurry." Sherlock spoke mildly.

"But you made it sound important." Emily added with her back to them.

"Well of course it's important. Now can I borrow your phone?" He continued to stare at the ceiling as John took his phone from his pocket.

"Here." Sherlock held his hand out, palm up, waiting for the item to be handed to him.

Once it was safely in his palms, he once more went back to the prayer position.

"So what's this about- the case?"

"Her case." Sherlock spoke softly that Emily very nearly didn't hear him.

"_Her _case?"

"Her suitcase, yes, obviously. The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake."

"Well, so what if he took her case?" Emily asked as she perched on the arm of the leather chair.

"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it."

"Am I invisible or something?" Emily raised her voice a little , now thoroughly fed up of being ignored.

"Emily." Sherlock started, still not looking at either of them.

"Apparently I'm not." She mumbled causing a faint smile to cross John's lips.

"On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text." It wasn't a question. It was clearly a statement as he held out the phone for her. Emily shut her eyes in disbelief.

"I'm sorry."

"No need to apologise." Sherlock mumbled but she ignored him.

"But you bought us here to borrow one of our phones, and have the other one send a text from it?"

"Text, yes. The number on my desk." He replied completely oblivious to her rising anger. She continued to glower at him while he continued to hold the phone out to her.

After a moment of thinking that the phone in his hand would somehow be Evidence A at her court hearing of a murder charge, she stomped across the room, snatched the device from his hand and made her way over to the table. Sherlock had, again, closed his eyes and taken up the prayer position.

But instead of searching for the number, she glanced out of the window. It seemed that John had the same idea as her when she felt him standing next to her doing the exact same thing.

"What's wrong?"

"Just met a friend of yours." John answered.

"A friend?" Emily snapped her head round to look at the man lying on the settee. His tone had been full of confusion.

"An enemy." She noticed Sherlock's shoulders visibly relax as if having an enemy was the norm.

"Oh. Which one?" Emily simply rolled her eyes ad turned her focus onto the desk to search for the number.

"Your _arch_- enemy, according to him. Do people _have _arch- enemies?"

"Did he offer the two of you money to spy on me?" Sherlock asked looking, as best as he could, towards them,

"Yes." They replied in unison.

"Did you take it?"

"No." John answered.

"Emily?"

"No." She shook her head as she found the number. But the name seemed familiar.

"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time." Emily chuckled a little causing the corners of Sherlock's mouth to twitch.

"Who is he?" It appeared that John would not let he subject go.

"The most dangerous man you've ever met, and not my problem right now." He almost whispered, but spoke louder with his next words. "Emily, on my desk, the number."

"Yeah, I have it. But her name, it's familiar." John stood next to her and read the details over her shoulder.

"Jennifer Wilson. That was... Hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?"

"Yes. That's not important. Just enter the number." Emily sighed and did as she was told.

"Are you doing it?"

"Yes."

"Have you _done_ it?"

"Will you give me _one _bloody minute." She told him, not taking her gaze from the phone.

"These words exactly: 'What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.'"

"You blacked out?" John asked as he watched Emily type away on his phone.

"What? No. No!" He answered as he flipped his legs around and stood up, walking over the coffee table to get to the kitchen. "Type and send it quickly." Emily only slowed down in the hopes of annoying him.

"Have you sent it?" He asked her as he came up beside her and grabbed a dining room chair from underneath the table. She got a brief waft of him. He didn't smell as pleasant as he had earlier in the taxi.

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street wasn't it?" She asked wanting to be sure.

"Yes. Now hurry up!"

She hit send and turned round to look at what Sherlock was doing, only to find he was observing a now open suitcase as if it would tell him the answers to the universe if he studied it long enough.

"That's... that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case." John stated as Emily noted the clothing and underwear, all in various shades of pink, a book and a wash bag.

"Yes, obviously." The two in front of him didn't bother to hide their curious stares. "Oh, perhaps I should mention, _I _didn't kill her." He enlightened them sarcastically.

"We never said you did." John said as Emily handed him back his phone and moved over towards the case to kneel down in front of Sherlock.

"Why not? Given the text I just had Emily send and the fact that I have _the _case, it's a perfectly logical assumption." His gaze landed on Emily who was now kneeling in in front of him, the back of her head only centimetres away. He briefly wondered what had made her sit that closely to him. Not many people did that by choice.

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?"

"Now and then, yes." He turned to John with a smirk. With that, he placed his hands onto the arms either side of him and lifted his feet up, careful not to knock Emily's head, in order for him to perch on his chair with his backside braced against the backrest, clasping his hands under his chin again when he was comfortable.

"Okay..." John mumbled more to himself than anyone else, He eyed the chair opposite Sherlock and limped towards it.. Emily was too busy rummaging through the case, careful not too touch any of the underwear. "How did you get this?"

"By looking."

"Where?" Emily looked over her shoulder at Sherlock to listen to his answer.

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention to themselves – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely – so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens ...and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip."

"So that's what the smell is." Emily murmured to herself without thinking. Luckily neither of the men appeared to hear her.

"Pink. You got _all _that because you realised the case would be pink?"

"Well, it _had _to be pink, obviously."

"Why didn't _we _think of that?" John asked Emily.

"Because you're both idiots." The two sent him a startled look at his words. Was he like that with everyone? Sherlock made a placatory gesture with one hand. "No, no, no, don't look like that. Practically everyone is." He pointed to the case before them. "Now, look. Do you see what's missing?"

"From the case? How _could _I?"

"Her phone?" Emily asked turning slightly so her neck would stop hurting from looking over her shoulder at the detective.

"Exactly." Sherlock sent her the briefest of smiles. One that she felt was actually a real one. "Her phone. Where's her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one- that's her number there; you just texted it."

"Maybe she left it at home." John supplied. Sherlock raised himself again, this time planting his feet on the floor to sit properly in the chair. Emily was once again practically sitting between his legs.

"She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it, She _never _leaves her phone at home." He told them as he reached his arms over Emily's shoulders and slipped the card back into the luggage label attached to the case, his chest almost touching the back of Emily's head.

"Er..." John started but turned to look at his phone. "Why did Emily just send that text?"

"Well, the question is: where is her phone _now?_"

"She could have lost it."

"Yes, or...?" He let the question hang hoping one or preferably both of them would pick up what he was trying to convey. John got there first.

"The murderer... You think the murdered has her phone?" He asked slowly.

"Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone."

"Sorry, what are we doing? Has Emily just texted a murderer?! What good will _that _do?" Emily sat up a little straighter at the thought of texting a murderer, not being able to help the small feeling of panic that had over taken her at that thought.

As if the phone had been waiting to him to ask these questions, it began ringing before he could even finish speaking.

"A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just _found _that phone they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer..." As if the phone had been expecting him to stop there, it too, stopped ringing. "...would panic." He reached around Emily and flipped the lid of the suitcase shut, before carefully climbing over the girl to retrieve his jacket.

"Have you talked to the police?" Emily had followed the taller man with her eyes since he had appeared in her line of sight while John had continued to stare at the case, attempting to take all this information in.

"Four people are dead. There isn't time to talk to the police."

"So, then, why are you talking to us?" Emily asked as she undid her coat.

"Mrs Hudson took my skull." Emily noted the hint of sadness in his tone as she whipped her head round to look at the mantle piece. Sure enough, there was a rather pathetic looking space where hours before, there had been a skull.

"So we're basically filling in for your skull?" John sounded slightly insulted as Sherlock started putting his coat in.

"Relax, you're both doing fine." Emily rolled her eyes. "Well?"

"Well what?" John asked.

"Well, you could just sit there and watch telly." The last two words were spoken with a suggestion of disgust.

"Ooh, yes please." Emily perked up at the notion and started to look around her from her spot on the floor for the remote.

"What, you want me to come with you?" John didn't want to drag Emily around if she didn't want to go.

"I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so..." Emily smirked at the thought of Sherlock carrying a skull around with him. "Problem?" Emily assumed he was talking to John.

"Yeah, Sergeant Donovan." The detective looked away from the pair in exasperation.

"What about her?"

"She said... you get off on this. You enjoy it."

Sherlock spoke his next words nonchalantly. "And I said 'dangerous', and here you are." Having felt like he had proved his point, he instantly turned and waked out the door. John sat there for a few moments.

"The remotes on the table Em." He mumbled to her as he mulled over the words Sherlock had just spoken.

"Oh, thanks." She sent him a beaming smile and headed towards the table. Sure enough there it was. Hiding in plain sight.

"Damn it!" She heard John mutter angrily and turned round just in time to see him walk back through the doorway they had entered not long ago.

"See you later John." She called out to him, but got no response. She made sure the TV was actually on before she slipped her coat off, settled herself on the settee and directed the remote at the telly. She pushed the button, but nothing happened.

* * *

John was a little surprised to find Sherlock still standing in the hallway and was even more surprised when he still didn't move as he took up the spot next to him.

"What are we waiting for?" John asked just as Sherlock made his way back upstairs again. He sighed, knowing this probably wasn't going to end well.

* * *

It hadn't taken long for Emily to remove the back of the remote to find that there were no batteries in the bloody thing. She had only just started her search for those when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs again. She turned, a moment later, to find Sherlock. But stepped back in shock at just how close he was to her.

"Problem?" He repeated his earlier question to John.

"Yeah. Where are the batteries?"

"What batteries?" He asked.

"The batteries for the bloody remote." An idea crept into her head. "You've taken them out haven't you?" She asked as she poked the remote into his chest.

He directed what he hoped was an innocent smile at her. It was anything but. "I don't know what you mean." She issued him an accusatory glare before she went on the search for batteries again. "But, seeing as you have nothing else to do..." He didn't finish his sentence, but instead snatched the remote from her hands, threw it onto the settee and grabbed onto her wrist. He made sure to pick up her coat as he dragged her to the door, down the stairs and into the hallway. John sent her an apologetic look that only went ignored as she wrenched her wrist from the detectives grip along with her coat.

She saw no way out of it. But instead of complaining, she followed Sherlock out the front door. She could have made a run for it back upstairs, but it wasn't her flat. And she had no idea where she would find any batteries, not in that mess at least.

It was only when she set foot on the pavement, that she noticed one of her shoelaces had come undone. She lifted her foot and simply tucked the lace in, after all, she didn't want to be on the receiving end of am impatient Sherlock.

If it wasn't for the arm she grabbed hold of, she would surely have toppled.

She looked up when she had finished, expecting John to be the one she had a hold of. But instead found that it was Sherlock. "Thank you." She said and got a nod in return. However, when she tried to let go of Sherlock's arm, she found that he would not allow her to. His arm squeezed her hand closer to him, but he didn't meet her confused gaze. Only started walking to wherever it was he was taking them.

* * *

**Believe In Sherlock**

**FB**


	12. Welcome To London

**I've only had the chance to read through this once, so please forgive me for any spelling/punctuation mistakes I have made and failed to correct.**

**I seriously hope there isn't many, but I can't be sure.**

**I don't own. Only Emily.**

**Please review?**

* * *

The three had only been walking for a matter of minutes. None of them talking.

Emily was surprised at the amount of people that were wandering around at this time of night. Perhaps they were on their way home from work after a busy day. Maybe they were going to have a steaming mug of hot chocolate and snuggle up under a blanket with a decent book, or watch a film. Just the thought made her green with envy. In those matter of minutes, she had turned cold again. Though the hand that was still in the crook of Sherlock's arm was rather warm. She couldn't understand why he wouldn't let it go. She had tried a couple more times to free the hand, but each time he had squeezed it closer to himself. After that she had just given up. At least one part of her would be warm.

"Where are we going?" John asked, breaking into Sherlock's thoughts as they stepped up onto the pavement.

"Northumberland Street's a five-minute walk from here."

"You think he's stupid enough to go there?" That question entered Emily's mind too.

"No - I think he's _brilliant _enough. I love the brilliant ones. They're always so desperate to get caught."

"Why?"

"Appreciation! Applause! At long last the spotlight. That's the frailty of genius, John: It needs an audience."

"Of course it does." Emily mumbled to herself. Again, neither of the men heard her.

"Yeah." John said, looking pointedly over the top of Emily's head at the Consulting Detective.

"This is his hunting ground," Sherlock slowly spun round, to indicate the entire area, still walking, taking an unsuspecting Emily with him. "Right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go."

Emily glared at the man to her right. She had almost tumbled again when he had spun them.

"Think!" Sherlock continued, ignoring her, holding his hands up on either side of his head. "Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?"

Emily looked at John, hoping he would have an answer. But he merely looked back at her and shrugged. "Dunno. Who?" He asked.

"Haven't the faintest." Sherlock answered after a pause. "Hungry?" He asked and lead them towards a small restaurant.

Sherlock finally released his hold on Emily's hand so he could walk through the door. "Thank you, Billy." He spoke to the waiter who had indicated a reserved table by the front window. Apparently, Sherlock came here often.

He stripped himself of his coat and sat down at the bench while John allowed Emily to sit down first. She sent John a smile in thanks and relieved herself of her coat, letting it pool around her waist.

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it." He nodded over towards the building over the road taking his scarf off, facing the window to keep an eye on it himself.

"He isn't gonna ring the doorbell, though is he? He'd need to be mad." John said as he too, took his jacket off. Emily crossed one leg over the other, careful to avoid hitting Sherlock's leg as she did so. Her cold hand, along with her warm one, was placed in between her thighs in the hope of making and keeping them warm.

"He _has _killed four people." Sherlock spoke in his deep voice. Emily shivered next to him. She was just cold, she told herself.

"...Okay." Emily looked behind her out of the window to the building she was supposed to be keeping an eye on. Although how she was supposed to do that with her back towards it she would never know.

As she turned back round to face the front, she caught Sherlock looking curiously at the necklace around her throat. At some point during their short walk, the little silver Elephant had come out from underneath her t shirt. She tucked it back in as if she hadn't noticed Sherlock's gaze and looked around the cosy restaurant. Apart from themselves, there were only two or three couples. It was in all likelihood that this place was perfect for dates.

"Sherlock." Emily focused on the man now standing next to their table. He was a little on the portly side with a shoulder length ponytail and little to no hair on the top of his head, currently shaking hands with the man next to her, clearly pleased to see him.

"Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free." He started as he placed three menus on the table. "On the house, for you _and _your date." He said looking straight at Emily.

"Do you want to eat?" Sherlock asked them, not hearing or completely ignoring the word _date._

"Oh, I'm not his date." She told the man offhandedly. Sherlock spared her a glance that she didn't catch.

"A beautiful girl like you. Not Sherlock's date?" He asked sounding genuinely shocked. Emily shook her head as she blushed slightly. He turned to look at John suggestively.

John got the message straight away. "I'm not his date either."

"This man got me off a murder charge." He ignored John.

"This is Angelo." Angelo offered his hand to John who shook it. "Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking." Sherlock informed them as Angelo now kissed the back of Emily's knuckles.

"He cleared my name." He told them, not letting go of Emily's hand. She wasn't particularly bothered by this, his hand was warm.

"I cleared it a _bit_." Sherlock corrected him. "Anything happening opposite?"

"Nothing." He looked back at Emily and John. "But for this man, I'd have gone to prison."

"You _did_ go to prison." He corrected again, noting that Angelo still hadn't let go of Emily's hand.  
"I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic." He told John. He winked at Emily as he gave her hand a gentle tap with his free one before releasing it and walked away.

"I'm not his date!" John started indignantly as Emily tried and failed to contain her smile.

"You may as well eat. We might have a long wait." Sherlock said after he had pushed his menu away.

The two started to inspect the menu as Angelo arrived back with a small glass bowl containing a tiny candle. Once it was safely placed between the three he sent John a thumbs-up, Emily another wink and walked away to do whatever it was he was he had been doing before he stopped to chat.

"Thanks." John spoke a little tetchily. Emily had to hide her face behind her menu to stop John from seeing her smile. "Thanks for the help Emily." He muttered to her. She could no longer contain it, she let her laughter out, still hidden behind the menu.

Silence had descended on the table. The only time they had spoken up was to order their food.

John was pointedly ignoring Emily after she had failed to help him with the _date _situation. Sherlock was keeping his focus on the building opposite, letting his gaze trail to the girl next to him every now and then in an attempt to find out more about her and Emily had all but forgotten about them as she was too busy daydreaming while she waited for her food. She had felt a little foolish ordering ice cream when she hadn't had a main course, she wasn't very hungry and had always had a sweet tooth for ice cream. But Angelo never even blinked as he informed her that they served the best chocolate ice cream Sundaes.

Her treat had arrived before John's meal had. Hers after all hadn't needed to be cooked.

She was now almost finished with her food, and John had barely started as he started talking again.

"People don't _have _arch-enemies." Emily rolled her eyes as she ate another mouthful of pudding. He really wasn't going to let the matter drop. Sherlock had been drumming his fingers against the table top, seemingly immersed in the building opposite. It took a moment for him to realise that John was talking.

"I'm sorry?" He asked.

"In real life. There _are _no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn't happen."

"Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull." He told him disinterestedly as he looked out the window again. "You have chocolate sauce in the corner of your mouth." He told Emily, pointing to where the offending condiment was, not looking at her.

"So who did we meet?" John asked as Emily wiped her mouth on her shirt sleeve.

"What do real people have, then, in their 'real lives'?" Sherlock questioned.

"Friends; people they know; people they like; people they don't like ... Girlfriends, boyfriends ..."

"Yes, well, as I was saying – dull." Emily rattled her spoon around in the glass that was now empty in an attempt to eat as much of the remains as possible

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?"

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area."

"Mm."

"Oh, right. D'you have a boyfriend?" Emily chocked a little on the sip of water she had been taking. She knew exactly how it sounded to the Detective. The taller man looked at the pair beside him sharply.  
"Which is fine, by the way."

"I _know_ it's fine."

Emily sincerely wished she still had some ice cream left to eat. It would have been something to take her away from the awkward conversation going on around her.

"So you've got a boyfriend then?"

"No."

"Right. Okay. You're unattached. Like me. Fine." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Good." He picked up some of his food on his fork and continued eating, ignoring the suspicious look that Sherlock was sending him. Emily too ignored him when she felt his gaze burn the side of her head before he turned back to look out the window again.

"John, um ... I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any ..."

"No." John interrupted. He cleared his throat and shook his head animatedly. "No, I'm not asking. No." Emily was trying not to laugh at his predicament.  
"I'm just saying, it's _all_ fine." He looked right at Sherlock to covey the sincerity in his words.

"Good. Thank you." Sherlock nodded after a moment.

John cleared his throat again. "What about you Emily? Any boys on the scene?" He sounded like a father. Or how she imagined a father would sound. She never had any first hand experience of what having one was like.

"Oh. So you're actually talking to me now?" She responded with a hint of anger. Was she really only good enough to talk to after an awkward situation?

"I never stopped talking to you." John said.

"Yes you did." She looked at him from the corner of her eyes and saw the look he was giving her. It was filled with hope that she would make the atmosphere go back to the way it was before John had bought _that_ up. Her shoulders slumped. She never was any good at staying mad at people for long.

"I've only ever had two boyfriends before." Sherlock was listening with a keen interest now, but kept his gaze out of the window. "The first one cheated. A lot. And... the second one... cheated." She finished with a nod.

"Any particular reason?" John asked interestedly. She really looked at him now and studied his face. He wasn't trying to clear the atmosphere of awkward conversation anymore. He was genuinely interested and concerned. Emily blushed.

"Well. I- I mean- I think- that um..."

"I think what Miss Cooper is trying to convey, is that she wouldn't sleep with them." Sherlock interrupted her rambling with his deep voice.

Emily nodded and felt, for some reason, ashamed of herself. It wasn't that she was a virgin. A party that she had once attended had made sure of that. She only knew what had happened because she had woken up with an awful hangover, naked and sore next to a boy she had only met twice. She had felt filthy and slutty. It had taken about five showers to rid her of the feeling.

After that, she had promised herself that she would only do that sort of thing with a boy she loved, and that she would never drink again.

So far she had kept that promise as she hadn't felt the slightest inkling of love towards either of her ex's. But by doing so, it meant that she had lost two of the men she had started to trust. She had let no one into her life like that ever since.

"Look across the street. Taxi." At that moment, Emily was rather thankful for Sherlock being a Consulting Detective as John dropped the subject to twist in his seat and look out the window.

"Stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out." Emily hadn't bothered to turn. She was trying to cool her flaming cheeks down. "Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. _Is_ it clever? _Why_ is it clever?" Sherlock asked himself as if having a conversation with himself.

"That's him?"

"Don't stare."

"_You're_ staring." John declared.

"We can't _both_ stare." Sherlock reasoned. He grabbed his coat and scarf and vanished out the door. He was swiftly followed by John and with a little reluctance Emily. But she was the only one to notice the walking aid leaning against the seats, lonely and forgotten. But she kept her mouth shut. If John could victoriously stand without it, surely he wouldn't need it to walk.

She had only just made it out of the restaurant when she watched as Sherlock, not bothering to check the road, headed out into the street. Almost immediately being hit by a car. He rolled over the bonnet, landed on his feet and ran after what Emily could only presume was the taxi from seconds before.

John quickly grabbed a hold of Emily's hand and started to head after the Detective, apologising to the driver.

"I got the cab number." John enlightened Sherlock as they came to a stop beside him in the middle of the road.

"Good for you." He bought his hands up to either side of his head again and concentrated.

Emily released Johns hand to put her coat on.

"Right turn, one way, roadworks, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights." Sherlock spoke in quick fire. He stopped and looked up to a short distance away. Without warning he grabbed Emily's wrist and started to run.

"Oy!" A man shouted to them as he was roughly shoved out of the way.

"Sorry." She heard John say. Somehow, despite the difference in leg length, the managed to keep up with Sherlock as he raced up some stairs and out onto a metal fire escape spiral staircase that could only lead to the roof.

"Come on, John." Sherlock shouted down to the other man who was lagging a few paces behind.

The top of the stairs quickly approached, but Sherlock had spotted another staircase that he ran towards. He wasted no time galloping down them, before climbing onto the railing and leaping across the gap to the next building. He turned so he could wait for Emily to do the same, having let go of her wrist seconds before jumping.

"Oh, that's high." She muttered as she looked down.

"Emily." She looked up at Sherlock. "Jump." She shook her head adamantly. "Jump. I'll catch you." He told her. Just by the tone of his voice, she could tell that he meant it. She took a deep breath before she jumped and only let it out when she felt her body crash against the Consulting Detectives.

"Told you." He sounded rather smug as his deep voice resonated in his chest, shooting through Emily, causing her cheeks to flame. Again.

"Thanks." She murmured as she moved away from him slightly.

"Let's go." Sherlock grabbed her hand and took off again. "Come _on, _John. We're losing him!" He shouted back to the Doctor. Emily wondered why he had waited for her, but not John, but the question quickly left her mind when Sherlock's grip on her hand tightened.

Another metal staircase, was followed by a ledge that once Sherlock had jumped off, he turned back and grabbed Emily by the waist, hoisting her down onto the ground beside him.

He hadn't bothered to grab her hand this time, he knew she was following.

"Ah, no!" She heard Sherlock mutter angrily ahead of her. Without breaking his stride, he raced out of the alley and turned right. "This way." But John turned left, the same way the taxi had gone. Upon noticing this, Emily turned round and ran back for him. "No, _this _way!"

"Sorry." John muttered to anyone who was listening as Emily took hold of his hand. The two followed after Sherlock.

She had only begun to wonder if they were actually running for a reason when she noticed Sherlock speed up and hurl himself into the path of the approaching taxi.

Sherlock scrabbled in his coat pocket, pulling out the item he was searching for.

"Police! Open her up!" He panted heavily and tugged the rear door open to stare at the passenger. "No." Sherlock said just as John and Emily joined him. "Teeth, tan: what - Californian? L.A., Santa Monica. Just arrived." Emily was leaning against the taxi, trying to regain her breath.

"How could you _possibly _know that?" John asked as the man in the taxi gave Emily an appreciative glance from his seat. She didn't notice.

"The luggage." And sure enough there, on the suitcase was a label: LAX to LHR. "It's probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?"

"Sorry – are you guys the police?" The man asked.

"Yeah." He flashed the badge briefly at the man. "Everything all right?"

"It probably was until now." Emily muttered.

"Yeah." The man smiled at her.

"Welcome to London." Sherlock said with a false smile, immediately walking away not even bothering to close the door.

"Er, any problems, just let us know." John told him.

"Well maybe she could-"

"Have a nice stay." Emily politely interrupted him when she heard his tone: suggestive. She shut the door in his face.

The two made their way towards Sherlock who was standing a few yards away.

"Basically just a cab that happened to slow down."

"Basically."

"So, not the murderer?" Emily questioned.

"_Not_ the murderer, no." An exasperated Sherlock replied.

"Wrong country, good alibi."

"As they go." Emily had turned back to look at the cab.

"Hey, where-where did you get this? Here." John reached for the card in Sherlock's hand. "Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"Yeah. I pickpocket him when he's annoying. You can keep that one, I've got plenty at the flat. I've got a few of Sally's if you want one Emily." She nodded distractedly as John giggled.

_"_What?"

"Nothing, just: 'Welcome to London'." Sherlock chuckled.

"Um. Boys." Emily gained there attention and indicated with her head to the cab where the passenger was now talking to a police officer and pointing in their general direction.

"Got your breath back?" Sherlock asked John.

"Ready when you are." Together the two set off running again. Leaving Emily behind.

She shook her head a little and began to walk at a slow pace behind them. She was too busy looking at the ground in front of her to notice that Sherlock had come back for her.

"Keep up Emily." He told her.

"_Eugh_. Do I really have to?"

"Yes."

"Can't I just walk? Or better yet get a cab?" She couldn't help the hopeful tone she spoke with.

"Nope." Sherlock grabbed onto her wrist again, and she found herself racing through the streets of London.

* * *

**Believe In Sherlock**

**FB**


End file.
